Caution: Falling
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: [AU SLASH: CJ and GD] Jalil hates catalogs. And roommates. And leather. And annoying blondes that have no business screwing with his life and turning everything upside down. Sadly, they all have business with him.
1. An Unlikely Pair

Caution: Falling 

By Kay 

Disclaimer: I don't own Everworld. It owns _me._

Author's Notes: WHOO! Finally! I make more ficcies for the EW crowd! ^__^ Thank Duck-K for this one, as Duck-K's brilliant and wonderful fics inspire me to write more Jalil-In-Leather. Mmm. I *heart* Duck-K. S'just wonderful. 

… unfortunately, am not as brilliant as Duck-K, who can make a way to get David in mesh raving clothes in Everworld. *pouts* So I'm being lazy and makin' this an Alternative Universe-- those are fun, anyway. 

For those who want to know-- my computer crashed from a virus, and destroyed all my writing files. That's why it's taking so long to get updates. -_-;; Although I've almost rewritten the next chapter for "Of Trembling Light", which you can expect soon… 

Er… other than that? Enjoy! (And sorry-- I couldn't resist the Ganymede/David.) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

There was something disturbing about the _Vogue_ catalog laying so innocently on Jalil Sherman's kitchen counter. 

Eyeing it with trepidation, he took another sip of his soda. He knew it hadn't been there this morning-- he would have thrown it away if he'd seen it then, knowing what it's ultimate fate would become. All the catalogs eventually ended up the same way. It was always best to put them in the garbage before it ended in that manner. 

Besides, it was a better fate than leaving them to his roommate. 

Jalil frowned at it again, and leaned back against the kitchen counter. 

It had been a good day, actually. He'd woken up with plenty of time to get to his college classes for the day, despite the fact that his alarm clock was still in a state of disrepair. (Not his fault. Really.) He'd managed to talk one of his professors into giving him a part-time job as a lab assistant for the department. As of ten o'clock this morning, Jalil was finally off of the unemployment factor, and spent the rest of the day with a superior smile lodged on his features. 

Yes, it'd been a decent day. Lunch at a small Indian café near downtown's center, followed by a comforting, steaming cup of _chai_. A few warm chats with nearby friends in between the school courses. And last, but not least, being able to come home to an empty and quiet apartment-- devoid of his active and annoying roommate. It had been a while since he was able to relax in comfort in his own kitchen, and Jalil was taking total advantage of his roommate's absence. 

He wasn't even in a hurry to throw away the _Vogue_ catalog, despite the danger of leaving it there. 

Jalil reached out a hand and flipped absently through the catalog, his eyebrow raising at some of the outfits inside the pages. Trust his roommate to start going from merely being flamboyantly gay to purchasing catalogs designed for woman's clothing. If he started wearing dresses, Jalil was going to put his foot down. Not that it was bad-- just distracting, and dresses always needed ironing, and Jalil _always_ did the ironing. 

Besides, it was bad enough he had to deal with the other habits. Oh sure, Jalil could ignore the small things. He could deal with the dirty clothes piled up around their living room. The way his roommate never went grocery shopping when he was supposed to, and almost made Jalil drink expired milk once. He could ignore the habit of walking around in nothing but bunny slippers and Tasmanian Devil boxer shorts. 

Heck, Jalil only had to pay half of the rent. He'd even ignore the cut-out magazine pictures of Brad Pitt on the toaster. (Even though he'd rather not see any sex appeal ads when trying to cook an English muffin.) 

But really. He wasn't going to iron anything else. And ever since he caught Ganymede necking in the hall closet with-- _whatever_ his name was-- Jalil hadn't been as patient as usual. 

_'Of course,'_ Jalil thought ruefully, taking another sip, _'That's what I get for agreeing to room with the campus slut.'_

Speaking of which. 

"JALIL!" came a gleeful shout, followed by a door slamming shut in the outside hallway. 

Jalil groaned and took another deep, gulping swig of his Sprite, while at the same time wondering if it was too late to hide the _Vogue_ catalog. 

"Jalil, you won't believe who I just met!" A blonde, curly blur dashed into the room and skittered to a halt moments away from knocking into Jalil. Dark emerald eyes blinked down at him excitedly-- down quite a bit, as Ganymede was _quite_, quite unnaturally tall. "It was the greatest thing ever!" 

Jalil looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. "Well, nice to see you, too." 

Ganymede Ryle grinned wildly at him, charmingly white teeth gleaming. There was something everyone loved about Gany's smile-- it had knocked boy and girl alike off their feet, only to have the blonde Casanova sweet them up from the ground. So to speak. His talents in love and style were unmatched by anyone on the college grounds, according to the love-struck crowd of groupies he attracted. They thought he was a dashing, undecided young stud. 

Jalil just thought he was a player. 

"Hello," Ganymede echoed cheerfully. He plopped down on the stool next to Jalil, tapping long and elegant fingers against the countertop. "How was your day?" 

"Actually, it was great." Jalil sipped his soda again and smiled softly. It wasn't an expression he used often, and his blonde roommate beamed when he saw it. "Thanks for asking." 

"Well, you told me to. Now-- the important thing. Guess who I just met?" 

Jalil peered at him, lips curving up more in amusement. "Hmm… some gorgeous, incredible creature whom you just _have_ to woo, and need my help with?" 

"That was _last_ Thursday." Ganymede pouted. 

"Oh, sorry. So who?" 

The blonde opened his mouth, then paused. He wrinkled his nose. "Actually… no, you had it right. It _is_ the most gorgeous, incredible creature ever, and you _do_ have to help me woo him." 

Jalil rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised? I should be used to hearing it by now." 

Ganymede had an unfortunate habit of involving Jalil in everything he did-- not that it wasn't appreciated. Jalil felt somewhat touched, if not exasperated, that his roommate liked to have him involved in all his strange plots and seduction ideas. It was just… well, Jalil didn't like strange plots and seduction ideas. So really, he was already getting a sinking feeling. But it was nearly impossible to deny Ganymede's wide green eyes anything, and Jalil felt himself nodding in agreement to help the man. 

Besides, it wasn't like he had anything else to do. 

"Great! I knew you'd help me," his friend gushed. "This guy is absolutely-fucking-beautiful, Jalil. You'll love him." 

Jalil hardly believed that. He sighed softly to himself and finished off the soda, idly listening to Ganymede chatter on excitedly about his newest conquest. 

"I was just walking out of the science building-- you know, the one they had renovated last year?-- when out of no where, this sinfully gorgeous guy comes up right behind me and taps me on the shoulder! I turned. And you should have seen him, Jalil, he was fantastic, I've never seen a face that interesting before. Dark eyes, an adorable slope to his nose… mahogany hair with just a little curl around the face…" Ganymede trailed off dreamily, staring into the air somewhere past Jalil's shoulder. 

When he didn't continue, Jalil blinked. "… and?" 

"Huh?" 

"Well, what did he want?" 

Ganymede flushed darkly and looked up. "Well… I'm not… _exactly_ sure." 

"What?" Jalil blinked again, confused. "Didn't he tap your shoulder? Did he ask you something?" 

"Well… I think he did. Probably. I was, uh, a little busy staring and gaping at his perfect mouth to think…" The blonde groaned in embarrassment and buried his face in his hands. The golden curls bounced slightly as he shook his head rapidly, as if to get rid of the flaming red tint to his cheeks. "I made an idiot of myself. I just kind of… gaped at him." 

"And then?" Despite himself, Jalil felt intrigued and not just a little bit amused by his roommate's shame. 

Ganymede peeked through his fingers, face stricken. "I-I just… nothing! And then he gave me this weird look and walked away." 

Jalil laughed at his friend, shoving the empty soda bottle he held under the counter and into the trash. "Well, it shouldn't be too hard to find him again. I'm sure you'll win him over the next time around, Cupid-Boy." 

"Oh shut up." Scowling, the blonde caught Jalil's eye and pleaded once again. "Look, please help me? I saw him go into the mechanics shop class. You know someone from there, right? Can you get me a name? An age and grade? A dorm room number so I can stalk him appropriately?" 

Jalil bit his lip thoughtfully. "Well… yeah, I do know someone. April's been taking it-- she's trying to show up that guy she broke up with. He said a girl couldn't work with cars, and she's been trying to prove him wrong by getting a better grade ever since." 

"See?! Ask her, I'm sure she'll know!" 

"He might not even be in that class," Jalil warned. "He might just know someone in there. There's no proof that just because he went into the room, he's a part of the course." 

Ganymede stuck out his bottom lip and sniffled. 

Jalil rolled his eyes at him. "… oh fine." 

"YES!" Cheering, Ganymede jumped out of his chair and hugged his roommate savagely. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! If we weren't such great friends, I'd kiss you _right_ now!" 

Jalil laughed at him, a tinge of blush in his mocha skin. "That's nice-- and you're welcome. Now let go of me and go clean up the mess you left in the living room." 

"Awww. Stick-in-the-mud." 

"You know it." Jalil pushed him gently, but firmly, towards the living room. "Now get going. I'll call April in a little bit." 

"Yes! Thank you, thank you… Mr. Gorgeous-As-Sin, here I come!" Ganymede made as if to run out of the room, before he paused. His emerald eyes fell onto the kitchen counter, and with another happy squeak, the blonde snatched up a thick volume of papers near Jalil's elbow. 

"YES! My _Vogue_ catalog! I've been waiting for this one for ages. For some reason, they all keep disappearing…" 

Jalil groaned to himself, and put his face in his hands. 

_'Goddamn it.'_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

To Be Continued: (Soon, too!) Next up: Jalil calls April, we find out Mr. Gorgeous-As-Sin's name, and Ganymede plots out the best way to capture him. ^_^ 

Don't worry. The Christopher/Jalil slash WILL come. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	2. Of Toasters and Talk

Caution: Falling 

Author's Notes: … WHEE! One review! ^_^ *hugs Duck-K* Awwww… I love Duck-K. Who else reviews my stuff always, even if it's bad? 

*SHINE* This is so for her. 

This one actually promises to be a fairly long AU-- Jalil-In-Leather doesn't come until the forth chapter. But we're getting there. Oh yeah, baby. :D 

SLASH-- Christopher/Jalil and Ganymede/David (because it's fun) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"Jalil, why don't toasters glow blue?" Ganymede asked his roommate the next morning. 

Jalil peered over the top of the newspaper he had spread in front of him, a single dark eyebrow arching upwards. He watched tiredly as his blonde friend prodded the metal contraption-- called a toaster, although it somewhat resembled a coffee can with stickers stuck all over it, once Ganymede had "redecorated" it with magazine images. At the moment, he was currently poking at the wrinkled face of Ewan McGregor, from what Jalil suspected was an old _Entertainment_ article. 

"Why would they glow _anything_?" Jalil finally said, eyes turning back to his morning paper. There was a break-in on campus over the weekend, according to the front headline. Maybe they should change their locks. 

Ganymede sniffed haughtily. "They glow _red_." 

"Do not." 

"Do too." 

"The inside parts… the wire thingies, I mean. They glow red when they're cooking the toast and stuff." Ganymede peered down into the toaster openings, tipping it forward to get a better view. "Why can't they glow blue? It's cooler." 

Jalil didn't even pause to consider this. Instead, he turned the page of his newspaper, propping both feet up on an empty chair across the table from his own. Shifting to become more comfortable, he replied, "Well, they don't. They glow red. Sometimes people don't think the way you do, Gany." 

"They _should_." Ganymede sighed and left the toaster alone, coming over to the table to plop down into a chair next to Jalil. "It's only fair, considering I have to put up with the rest of everyone else." 

A small laugh escaped Jalil, and the blonde sat back in satisfaction. Making Jalil laugh had always been a high priority for him. 

"So," the blonde continued cheerfully, taking a small bite of Jalil's untouched toast, "… what's the plan for today?" 

"That's my breakfast, you know." Jalil frowned at his roommate from over the paper. He didn't answer the question. 

Ganymede shrugged. "You weren't eating it." 

"Ungrateful bastard. Just for that, I'm not telling you what April revealed to me last night on the phone." The dark-eyed teenager smirked and stuck his head back into the paper, leaving Ganymede to gape pitifully at him. 

"What?! No! Noooo, Jalil, _please_, come on… I didn't mean it. I'll make you new toast. I'll even scramble some eggs-- just please, please, _please_…" 

There were few things sadder (yet undeniably irresistible) than a pouting, begging Ganymede Ryle. Even those usually immune to his oddly compelling charms couldn't last against _The Look_. Jalil, although used to his roommate's incessant pleading in all matters, was no exception to the rule. 

Grumbling, he folded his newspaper and set it down on the table. 

"Alright, alright. Stop with the lip trembling already." Jalil tossed an mock-scornful look at the blonde, before shaking his head with a smile. "_Honestly_, you're in your twenties, Ganymede." 

"Age has nothing to do with it. Against the threat of losing my one true love due to a single instant of stealing burnt toast? I'd do _anything_." 

"Your so called _true love_ has a name." Jalil methodically, carefully smoothed out the wrinkles on the kitchen tablecloth. "It's David Levin. Age nineteen, majoring in Business and Economics, and one of the more recent members of the mechanic shop class you saw him at." 

Ganymede listened raptly, wide green eyes brimming with anticipation. After hearing his dream boy's name, he grinned widely. 

"David Levin? It's _perfect_. David. Ganymede and David. Ganymede and David Ryle-Levin. David and Ganymede Levin-Ryle." 

A laugh bubbled up inside of Jalil, and for once, he allowed it to escape past his lips. Covering his mouth to smother the chuckles, he shook his head, black tendrils of hair falling down into his face. "You… are impossible, Ganymede." 

"It's destiny, Jalil. Fate! It was foreordained that we should meet that day!" 

Shaking his head in amusement at the blonde, Jalil remarked, "Well, good luck with him. He just got out of a bad relationship with some girl named Senna." 

"Ouch!" Ganymede winced harshly, shoving a pale hand over his chest as if wounded. "Ah, the straight syndrome?" 

"Not exactly. April said he might be open to persuasion. Just, uh, that he doesn't trust anyone remotely attracted to him now." Shrugging a narrow shoulder, Jalil twisted his mouth into a semi-smile. "Apparently, the girl messed with his brain." 

"Nothing I can't fix! I'm Mr. Fixer. Oh yes, I will cure David Levin of any mistrust for romance and love." There were sparkles starting to glimmer in Ganymede's eyes-- Jalil _knew_ it. Shaking his head at his dramatic roommate, the dark-eyed boy continued with the last bits of information he'd been able to wring out of April the night before. 

"He likes boats. His father was in the Navy or something. And he's very… manly and all that. Takes high stock in doing the right thing and being courageous… y'know, not girly like _you_." 

Ganymede cheerfully made an obscene gesture at Jalil. He smirked and returned it. 

"You, Jalil, have no faith. That's your problem." Winking, the blonde stood and straightened out his back. "Mmm… David Levin, here I come! Ganymede Ryle will woo you, catch you, and keep you! True love shall not be thwarted by anything!" 

Jalil rolled his eyes, smiling slightly, and picked his newspaper back up-- 

"And while I'm at it, I'll get _you_ a boyfriend, too!" 

--and put it back down. 

"_Ganymede_!" sputtered the dark-eyed boy, a dark flush entering his mocha features. He tried to scowl at his friend, but the flustered look on his face ruined the effect. "I don't _want_ a boyfriend. Whatever gave you the idea that I ever _did_?" 

Ganymede pouted at his friend, going over to poke at the toaster again. "Why not? Boyfriends are fun. They, y'know… hug and cuddle with you. And stuff. Lots of good stuff." 

"That fails to convince me whatsoever." 

"Come on, you haven't been on a date in the _entire_ time you've roomed with me," Ganymede explained sincerely. He picked up the toaster and brought it back over to the table to sit down with, leaving the long cord plugged in and trailing behind him. It was something Jalil wasn't even going to think about, considering the fact that Ganymede and toasters always equaled trouble. "And you've lived with me a long time. Since the start of college here. And not one date!" 

"How do you know?" muttered Jalil, obsessively smoothing the tablecloth again. A suspicious tinge of crimson remained around his sharp cheekbones. "You've always been busy having fun with your own love life-- what's the sudden concern about my own?" 

"You're my friend; friends look after each other," Ganymede stated simply. 

If it had pertained to any other topic, Jalil would have been touched. As it was, however, the subject of dating had always been a sensitive one with him-- meaning, simply, that he hated to even think about it. It was a concept that was both alien and upsetting to the boy. Jalil Sherman dating someone? Having a lover or boyfriend, even, god-forbid, a one night stand…? 

Oh, _hell_ no. 

"Leave it alone," Jalil repeated firmly. "I'm not interested." 

"Jalil! Staying cooped up in the apartment, night after night, all alone? It's not good for you! You need to be out there in the real world-- having fun, getting together with people, learning all the best make-out points in town…" 

"Sounds lovely, but I'll pass." 

"Finding true love and realizing you'd like to spend the rest of your life with them! Trying to convince them that they should marry you, and that yes, adopting children is a great way of expressing devotion!" 

"Thanks anyway, but _no_." 

"Alright, we'll leave out the kids." Jalil threw the blonde a dirty look, and was rewarded with a brilliant, blinding smile. All 100 watts of _Ganymede Ryle Super Charm_ aimed straight at him through those white teeth. 

"Please, Jalil?" the blonde asked gently, smiling hopefully at his friend. The toaster lay forgotten at his hands. "I don't like seeing you so lonely all the time. Even if you think you have a good reason for it." 

_'You don't know my reasons for it,'_ Jalil thought darkly. Still. The pleading look and warm smile directed towards him made him hesitate to refuse. And really, it wasn't like anything was going to come out of agreeing a little. Just a blind date, probably, or something equally uneventful. Then his friend would be happy, and Jalil could go back to being an antisocial bookworm, delving himself back into the 'Single And Blissful' hole. 

Besides. That smile made all of Jalil's cool resolve melt like butter in a spring day. He scowled at the table. 

_'Goddamn him.'_

"Fine," Jalil said, and it seemed as though the words were forced out from a distant plain of existence. He found himself sighing in defeat. "Do whatever you want, I'll go along with it. I can't promise I'll enjoy your matchmaking attempts, though." 

"YES! You will _not_ regret this, Jalil," Ganymede promised earnestly. He looked back at the toaster with a beaming sort of pride. "I'll make sure when David and I double date with you, your guy won't be a total loser." 

Jalil groaned and sank down in his seat, already wishing the chair would swallow him whole. 

_'I… am an idiot.'_

In a final attempt at protest, Jalil weakly added, "But you still have to find a way to get David to go out with you." 

Ganymede waved a hand in a gesture of dismissfulness, eyes intent now on the toaster after Jalil's agreement. He was currently trying to wedge a fork down into the spaces-- for what reasons, unknown. 

"Only a matter of time, dear Jalil. Give me two more days, and he's all mine." 

Of course, things were never that easy. But Jalil didn't say a thing. 

Besides, the toaster was beginning to hiss. 

"AUGH! You're melting the fork in there, you moron-- _GANYMEDE_!!!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

To Be Continued: Next up, David and Christopher and April talk during shop class... Ganymede puts his plan into action... 

And chapter four, we get to see Jalil in leather. GLEE. :D 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	3. VVVROOOOOOOMMMMM, BABY!

Caution: Falling 

By Kay 

Disclaimer: I don't own Everworld. One of these days, I will, though. ^_^ 

Author's Notes: This is being written a _lot_ faster than I imagined. O.o Whoa. Heh. Third chapter already out, and I have twenty more planned at LEAST. With leather. Hee hee hee. 

… yes. Erm. Enjoy! ^^;; And enjoy the OOCness of it all… mwahahahaaaa… (Thanks to all who reviewed!) Special kudos to the person responsible for this ficcie-- Duck-K! Who has made me obsessed with "Praise Chorus", the song AND fic, and is the entire reason Jalil-In-Leather now dominates the universe! *cackles madly* Yes! I shall prod her into making more delicious C/D slash with all my wacky G/D stuff! MWAHAHAAA! 

This fic is SO dedicated to her. *shines* Duck-K! Super Brilliant and Fantastic Writer of All That is EW Slash! Together, we shall conform the world to our views, and all will worship TOASTERS! 

Jalil: … as much as I'd love to dominate the universe, I worry about you sometimes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

    David Levin never wanted to take a class in "the maintenance of vehicular automobiles". 

    No, really. He was a fairly simply kind of guy. He'd never needed a lot of things in life. Sure, there were the necessities. A couple old fashioned kung-fu movies, an ancient rust-bucket of a Toyota that he drove around campus. Thirty-three wrinkled dollar bills wadded up in his jean pocket. A few blunt, straight-out classes in business and economics, just in case he ever decided what he wanted to do with his life. A copy of _Shogun_ shoved under his bed mattress, in case some of the guys over in his dorm room ended up horsing around and spilling something all over the crumpled pages. 

    Really, David never knew exactly what he wanted in life. It had always been that way-- a stubborn mental block forcing him away from any resemblance of direction. His father was a retired Navy man, his mother was the woman who lived next door to you, but you never knew how to talk to. He was the only kid. Never did exceptional in high school. Had a few good friends. Some faint plans for college that managed to get him there. Not a whole lot. 

    In fact, the only thing really _going_ for David Levin was a certain blonde nuisance to humanity. A blessing in the disguise of a three year old shoving sand down his overalls-- not that he'd forgiven him for that, though. 

    Christopher Hitchcock. 

    Christopher "I'm-Blonde-And-Sexually-Intuned-To-All-Woman's-Desires-So-Shut-The-Hell-Up-About-How-Single-I-Am" Hitchcock. 

    Man, for the only thing _right_ in his life, he really wanted to kill that guy sometimes. Like now. _Right_ now. Whether they'd been best friends since childhood or not. Some things are just not forgivable. Including this. 

    So David said, firmly and spitefully, "I hate you." 

    "Come _on_, it's just a goddamn spark plug, Davey-boy." Christopher rolled his blue eyes towards the ceiling in exasperation, holding out the metal tool with his left hand, the right sitting on his hip. 

    "Don't call me that," David said in irritation. He didn't take the spark plug. "And you do whatever you want to with it, I wasn't even listening to what he was saying." 

    He hadn't been, either. David couldn't stand the mechanics teacher-- a bulky, sneering man who liked to tell him how "weak and powerless" he was with cars. He ignored how nimble David was with his fingers (ages of tying knots in ropes, an old sailor habit), or how he could tell Christopher exactly how _not_ to blow the machines to hell and back. _No_, because David couldn't change a tire without eventually smashing something vitally important, the man was ruthless to him. 

    Personally, David thought he was a bastard. 

    "Why did you take this class if you weren't even going to listen?" Christopher complained, leaning over the car they were currently working on. The entire class was set in a garage-like room, and was filled to the brim with shouts and spark-sounds, so that David had to lean forward to hear anything being said. Upon hearing this particular statement, he scowled heavily. 

    "I didn't want to take this class. You said it would spice up my life. You forcibly dragged me to the sign-up, and stabbed me with toothpicks from the buffet table until I agreed to do it." 

    "I didn't think a few harmless wooden sticks were going to convince you." 

    "Harmless, yes. Until you started in with the plastic butter knives. The point is, it's your own fault I'm uncooperative in this place." 

    Christopher made a face at him. Then he reached on a nearby table and picked up a handkerchief, wiping his sweating forehead thoroughly. The heat in the garage raised every day, only encouraging the grime and oil to attach itself to their skin. At the moment, the blonde's face looked almost gray. 

    "… well, maybe I was wrong. This _does_ suck." 

    "Told you." David sighed. He looked around the garage, frowning. "You don't even _have_ a car, Christopher. What's the point of taking a class teaching you to take care of one?" 

    "Babes think it's great," the blonde protested. He stood and slammed the car hood shut, eyeing it warily when the engine choked and died seconds later. 

    "… you killed it," David said simply. 

    "It wanted to die. I was doing it a favor." Christopher flashed a grin at him, dark blue eyes already scanning the garage for the instructor. Finding no one but clamoring students, complaining of the heat, he relaxed and slumped against the hood. "This bites. Next time I try to pull something like this, stop me." 

    "That's what you say every time." 

    "You should _stop_ me then, afterwards." 

    "Oh, shut up," David said irritably. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his denim jacket, leaning against the workbench beside them. "It's your own fault; stop complaining." 

    Christopher opened his mouth to speak (most likely to deliver a scathing, sarcastic remark, if David knew him-- and he _did_). He was stopped by a familiar, light-hearted, stunningly gorgeous and feminine voice. 

    "I didn't realize that sitting on the hood of a car fixed it." 

    True to his quick witted nature, Christopher twisted his head to look at April O'Brian, and grinned. "It's the newest method of replacing the engine. Do nothing-- some wonderful, beautiful redhead will come over and do it _for_ you." 

    April laughed, coming up to stand next to them. It was a common occurrence. They'd both met the girl in mechanics shop class, after she joined to (as David understood it) show her ex-boyfriend up in skill. 

    Show him up, she did. April was now the top of her class, and the only reason Christopher and David had managed to pass so far. There was something to be said for females who would only ridicule you a _little_ bit for not knowing how to change oil in a Honda-- they were hard to find, and highly prized. 

    "So what's the problem?" she asked, flipping fiery red hair behind her shoulder. Her green eyes sparkled mischievously. "Can't tell the hood from the trunk lid again?" 

    Christopher pouted at her. "That was only _once_." 

    Laughing, April prodded him off of the hood. Having done so, she proceeded to flip it up and-- well, get to work. Doing what they obviously couldn't. 

    David would have felt disgruntled and indignant, if it was anyone _except_ her. There was something about April that made him feel like he didn't have to pretend to be overly intelligent and capable-- she'd only be amused by it. It was something like spending time with his aunt, who was one of the most strange yet appealing people he knew. He never had to say much of anything, and they both knew what he was. And what he wasn't. 

    _'It's not a bad thing… not at all.'_

    Christopher spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence and April's humming sounds from where she hunched over the vehicle. 

    "You look extra cheerful today. Have you finally decided that it would be the infinitely wise thing to do if you went out with me?" He leered at April, half-serious and half-jokingly. "I could destroy and rebuild your entire _world_, baby." 

    "I doubt that," April remarked dryly. "Considering your pathetic attempts at flirtation and come-on lines have yet to even shake the _foundation_." 

    "Ouch." 

    David allowed himself a grin at the two of them, settling back comfortably to listen to the now-familiar banter. His best friend had a long-standing… well, lust, really… for the gorgeous redhead. In fact, he was almost certain that Christopher signed them up just because April was joining it. 

    Of course, the redhead probably knew that. April was uncanny like that. 

    As if reading his mind, April paused in her work and looked up from the car. A wide grin crossed her features, promising both trouble and amusement in a few moments. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you guys about something." 

    "You want to carry my children," Christopher said immediately. 

    "Yes. That's it." She rolled her eyes and nudged him further away, instead focusing on David's features. "Actually, it's more about _you_." 

    David blinked in surprise. From beside him, he heard Christopher ask in a wounded voice, "You want to carry _his_ children?" 

    "Damn it, Christopher, _no_!" 

    The blonde put up hands in a gesture of surrender, complacent and regretful. "Sorry, sorry. Please continue, O' Great Car Handler Lady." 

    April's lips twitched at the title, but she struggled against the smile, and instead turned back to David's confused face. "I got a call from Jalil Sherman last night." 

    Five seconds of utter silence. 

    "… who?" David finally asked. He blinked. Next to him, Christopher had an oddly thoughtful look on his face. A moment later, he snapped his fingers. 

    "Wasn't he… the, um, thing? The guy who, y'know… got a free ride into the science and mathematics department, because he was super-genius material?" 

    April nodded at Christopher's uncertain, fumbling guess. "Yeah, that's him. He is really smart. Really dedicated to his work and all that. The professors ate it up. I met him through one of them-- she thought we'd be interested in doing some 'verbal sparring'." 

    "What?" 

    The redhead chuckled and explained it best she could. "We have many different views, and are equally passionate about them. She thought it'd be fun to see how well we lasted against each other." 

    Christopher grinned cockily, giving her a thumbs up sign. "I bet you wiped him off the floor." 

    "Actually, we ended up deciding that debating would get us no where," April admitted ruefully. "And we went out for ice cream instead." 

    "Ice cream? You wouldn't even let me walk you _home_, and--" 

    David cut off Christopher's complaining by demanding, "What does this have to do with _me_, though? I don't even know this guy." 

    April gave him a _look_. It was a glance filled with glee, amusement, and a number of other dangerous things that he would have really rather _not_ seen there, and David shrunk back warily. 

    "His roommate has decided to be in love with you." 

    "_What_?" David demanded. Christopher began gleefully rubbing his hands together. 

    "YES! I knew it! David's all grown up and got himself a fan club of gorgeous, wonderful women…" The blonde beamed at his friend. "I'm so proud. They can see past the lame, serious scowl, the way he never knows how to dress in style, the continuous silence that clogs up the atmosphere--" 

    "Christopher, _shut up_." David tossed him the 'lame, serious scowl'. Christopher stuck his tongue out. 

    "Yes, well," April interrupted briskly, eyes still twinkling in an alarming fashion. "You're almost right. They do see past all of-- _that_-- and straight to what they're referring to as 'Mr. Gorgeous-As-Sin'--" 

    _"David?! Him?!_" Christopher wailed. "I claimed that title three years ago! Goddamn it, David!" 

    David's face was turning a faint shade of red. 

    "Look, just… shut up. I'm not… I don't want _anyone_ to be interested in me," he said miserably, looking acutely embarrassed. He glanced down at his shoes and frowned heavily. 

    Christopher wasn't having any of it. "You need to get out," he said firmly, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "Just a date-- this is the perfect opportunity. You gonna let a crazy wench like Senna get you down? Fight the good fight, man!" 

    "I don't think so--" 

    "April! Tell him to ask the girl out!" 

    They both stared at her pleadingly, for different reasons. April coughed slightly, a grin struggling to raise on her warm features. "Well… there's just one problem…" 

    "She's ugly? Bad teeth? Rotten sense of romance?" 

    "She's a _he_. His name's Ganymede Ryle." 

    There was ten seconds of strained, stunned silence. Christopher gaped at the redhead; David stared at the ceiling with wide, unseeing eyes. 

    … until he fell backwards and knocked the entire workbench over. 

    _"FUCK!"_

    "David!" shrieked April, as the brunette went tumbling down with a large collection of wrenches, sockets, and tire parts. The whole mess clattered to the floor, ringing throughout the garage in the sudden silence as everyone looked over in shock. David stared up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. After a moment, he blinked blurrily up at April's concerned face. 

    "… ouch. Wha… what… _What_ kind of name is _Ganymede_, anyway!?" 

    Christopher cracked up. 

    Sputtering, face flaming, David threw a wrench at him. "Shut _up_, moron, and help me the hell up!" 

    Cackling like a hyena, Christopher scrambled over and knelt down to pick up a few wrenches or so. Shoulders shaking rapidly, he attempted to help his fuming best friend off the floor. Was also slugged in the shoulder for it. 

    "I said shut up!" 

    "Hee hee… you're got a male fan club…" 

    "Goddamn it, Christopher!" 

    "Hey, at least he's pretty," April offered. "In a tall… godly… sinfully handsome sort of way." 

    Now successfully back on his feet, mahogany hair disheveled, David glared at her. "I'm not dating anyone named _Ganymede_." 

    Christopher snorted. 

    "Shut up, Christopher." 

    The blonde grinned widely at him. "Aww, but I like it. Ganymede and David Ryle. David and Ganymede Levin. Ganymede and David Levin-Ryle--" 

    "CHRISTOPHER!" 

    "--kids can be named Hercules--" 

    _"CHRISTOPHER!"_

    "Actually, Ganymede had almost nothing to do with Hercules, last time I checked my Greek mythology," April said mildly. 

    David threw his hands up in the air in defeat, turning away to stomp out of the class room with bruised both a bruised ego and body. The entire crowd watched him go. The door slammed shut behind him. 

    Christopher just cackled. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wheee~! Finally HTMLed that sucker. I swear, this stuff will kill me. ^^;; 

This part wasn't as funny, but it'll get better, I promise. And you'll have to excuse the bad language-- but really, if that offends you, why did you read Everworld? It was EVERYWHERE. ^^;;; 

Waaah, thank you for reading! *HUGS* I feel like I've accomplished something. This and "Something Like It" should do for a while. Although I feel the urge to just go ahead and write chapter four right now... gah... JALIL IN LEATHER! SQUEE! ^___^ Something for you all to look forward to! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. THE LEATHER ATTACKS!

Caution: Falling 

By Kay 

Disclaimer: Do not own Everworld. Do not own Everworld. I SO own-- damn it! 

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! *blush* They mean a lot, yanno? Thanks goes out to all of them-- I treasure each reviewer more than my bank account. *SNUGGLES* 

The moment has finally arrived! Jalil! In Leather! And Ganymede, doing dasterically evil plotting. (What's dasterically mean? I didn't know it was a word, but the spell check isn't picking it up. Whoa. Hee hee.) Anyway, enjoy! Let me know whatcha think! 

And yes, a carb diet works. I'm on it. But it's an EEEVIL thing. Fuckin' pork rinds… 

And yes, I do believe Jalil is skinny because he DOES NOT EAT. X_X The boy is friggin' willowy as hell because he's a rabbit-food eater! A salad cruncher! A "pick-at-my-food-except-for-big-meals" boy! Damn it, how else do you get so skinny?! 

Jalil: Um, my fast metabolism, maybe? *rolls eyes* 

… stupid Jalil. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

    Jalil stared down at the bag of Old Dutch pork rinds, and realized he'd sunk to the lowest _possible_ level imaginable. 

    They were small, curved chips. Bubbled pork skin or something, all flat and tan and disgustingly bland. He'd tasted better cardboard-- although, actually, Jalil was pleased to say he'd never _really_ tasted cardboard, so it was hard to say. But if he imagined the taste of cardboard, this would be worse. Somewhat. 

    They crunched loudly and tasted dead. 

    He narrowed two coffee-hued eyes at the flimsy bag. 

    "I am not living off of _you_ for the next three weeks, damn it!" 

    Ganymede took this shout as his cue to pop into the kitchen, blinking curiously at the sight of his roommate perched on the kitchen counter, glaring angrily at a small crumpled bag of brown chips. 

    "Um… you okay, Jalil?" 

    "Am I okay?" Jalil repeated darkly, turning slowly to look at him. The glare only intensified. "Well… as such…" 

    "As such, what?" 

    "As such… I'm not." Jalil sniffed indignantly, picking idly at the bag of pork rinds with doubtful fingers. "I'm on a diet." 

    This allowed Ganymede a good five seconds of actual silence, as he studied his roommate's body form. Usually he didn't check out friends, but when they started making odd, feminine statements like that, the blonde youth had to worry. Especially considering Jalil. Especially considering his friend certainly did not need to go on a diet, due to the fact that his form was all angles and slender mocha skin, without an ounce of fat anywhere. 

    He stared hard at Jalil. Nope, no fat, not anywhere. That hadn't changed. Maybe he heard wrong? It was possible… 

    "Did you say you were on a diet?" 

    Jalil scowled heavily at the bag in his hand, dark eyes flashing menacingly. After a moment, he sighed and shook his head. "Yes, I said I was on a diet. Carbohydrate diet; it means nothing but meat, cheese, and pork rinds for a few weeks. It's already starting to kill me. This stuff is…" He wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting." 

    Ganymede's face looked blank. "… why are you on a diet?" 

    "Because it's healthy." 

    "But… you're _already_ healthy." 

    "My physician says I need to stay off the sugar and carbohydrate intake for a while. It's not doing my heart any good." Flipping the bag on the kitchen counter, Jalil leaned back with a sigh, folding his arms over his chest awkwardly. "I guess I never really thought about it. I mean, my mother loved shoving sweets off on me when I was a kid. She thought I was too skinny or something." 

    "You _are_ too skinny," his roommate eloquently pointed out. Jalil rolled his eyes at him. 

    "Whatever." 

    "Seriously, I used to think you were anorexic. It took months of surveillance to prove me wrong, too." 

    "_Surveillance_?" Frowning, a weird look appearing in his features, Jalil questioned, "Do I really want to know?" 

    "Probably not." He really didn't want to tell Jalil about the shower episode, and was relieved when the youth shook his head in dismissal. 

    "I won't ask then." Jalil went back to absently shoving the pork rind bag across the counter. "Anyway, that's why I'm on a diet. Not for long, but it sure feels like it." 

    Ganymede draped himself into a kitchen chair, planting his legs on either side and sitting backwards. He folded his arms to cushion his head, looking curiously at his friend and the pork rinds. "I didn't know you had a bad heart." 

    Jalil looked startled for once, dropping his hands to the counter and turning to look at his friend. "What?" 

    "You said the sugar was bad for your heart or something?" 

    "Oh. Well, not so much sugar as carbohydrates, too. Higher risk of heart failure or something-- I wasn't really listening. I don't have a bad heart, Ganymede," he added reassuringly, shoving the pork rinds into a small cupboard above the sink. If they had to be around, he didn't want to see them. "It was just some good advice." 

    The blonde pouted. "You're already too skinny. You're gonna end up going on a diet like one of those campus girls, and all you'll eat is rabbit food! And _salad_! I'll have to buy lettuce heads!" 

    Jalil rolled his eyes, before propping up his elbow to rest his chin on his hand. He smiled slightly at his roommate. "I suppose. Now what was so important you wanted to tell me earlier?" 

    "Huh?" 

    "The thing you were so excited about? That you had to call me over my cell phone in the middle of Advanced Physics to rave about, until I cut you off?" 

    Ganymede's face immediately brightened. "Oh, _that_!" He leaped out of his chair, green eyes wide and twinkling with delight. The expression made Jalil wince and suddenly wish he were somewhere very, very far away from his exuberant roommate. 

    "Jalil! Maybe it's good you're on a diet-- because tonight, my friend, we are going _out_!" announced the boy with dramatic flair, waving his arm repeatedly through the air. Jalil just raised an eyebrow at him, frowning slightly at the implications. 

    "Out…?" 

    "Dancing!" 

    "_Dancing_?!" 

    "With sexy young gods and a lovely redhead woman to drive us home when we're all filthy drunk and mad in the brain!" crowed Ganymede triumphantly. 

    Jalil was starting to feel a headache coming on. 

    "Could you… say it in English? Please?" the dark eyed boy asked slowly, reaching up to rub his temples. The sentence sounded vaguely foreboding already, however, and he almost immediately regretted asking for a translation. Ganymede took no notice of his sudden wariness, and plopped back down in his former seat. 

    "_April_," the blonde cooed happily, "has informed me that a _certain_ David Levin will be attending the _Vicarious Wade_ tonight!" 

    "… the _what_?" 

    Ganymede pouted at his flabbergasted expression, leaning forward until his chair threatened to tip over onto the floor. "It's a dancing club downtown, a few blocks from campus. It's the rave! You can't _not_ know what the _Vicarious Wade_ is, Jalil! I knew I was right in taking you out soon. To think that you were that clueless…" 

    The dark eyed boy groaned, now definitely sure he was going to get a migraine. "Gany, I… I'm not a club sort of person, you know?" 

    "Well, you will be tonight!" 

    "You can go ahead without me, you'll be fine. You don't need me to woo the great David Levin, do you?" Jalil asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Not the wonderful Ganymede Ryle, heartthrob of the campus?" 

    The blonde gave him a disapproving look. "No sugar and carbs has made you really grumpy, Jalil." 

    "Oh shut up." 

    His roommate's pout deepened as he leaned even further out in his chair, begging Jalil with his huge green eyes. "Jalil! I need moral support and your friendship in this hour! You wouldn't let me down, would you? April will be there to talk to, and I'll need your help heading him off if he tries to escape…" 

    "He's not a loose zoo animal!" sputtered Jalil, vaguely wondering where the hell he had ended up when he signed up for this college. What had he been thinking again…? 

    Oh yes. Good experiences. Jesus. 

    "He's my love bunny, damn it! Sometimes they just… need to be herded in the right direction, you know?" 

    "You shouldn't be herding _any_ bunnies. They aren't naturally herded animals, you know." 

    Ganymede thought about this. "… okay, so he's my love sheep. Better?" 

    Jalil let out a barking laugh that was disguised as a cough. "Not really…" 

    "Love buffalo?" Ganymede asked hopefully. 

    "Getting warmer." 

    "Love _gazelle_!" 

    "We'll be here all day, won't we?" 

    *    *    *

    It was a certainty now-- Jalil definitely had a headache. 

    "Ganymede… I'm _not_ wearing that." 

    The blonde looked as though he were about to cry. "Jalil! It's for the sake of true love-- what more of a reason could you ask for? Besides, it's perfectly normal!" he added emphatically, waving the shining black bundle of clothing around with one hand. Jalil glared at it warily, glancing quickly to the door to see if he could make a run for it. 

    Unfortuantely, as soon as Ganymede tricked him into the bedroom, he'd had the foresight to lock it. Stupid Ganymede. 

    "I don't even want to go! I don't care if it's for true love!" 

    "You're so cruel," mourned his roommate, hugging the dreaded clothing to him. "A cherished buddy comes to you, in desperate need of your services, and what do you do? You coldly refuse to aid him in the _one_ chance he has to find the man of his dreams. What kind of horrible person _are_ you, Jalil Sherman?" 

    "The kind that does _not_ wear leather," the boy replied sharply. 

    "But it's shiny," whined the blonde. 

    "And the kind that doesn't go to clubs!" added Jalil again, nervously eyeing the door once more. Maybe if he tried the window… no, they were floors above the ground, he'd be a pancake on the sidewalk if he tried to… 

    Ganymede seemed to notice his wandering, because the tall youth glared at him and stepped in front of the window. "You won't know if you don't _try_. You might actually like clubbing and stuff. Meet a few guys, get on with your life." 

    "I don't want to meet new men," Jalil muttered darkly. "I'm fine with my life. I _like_ studying and working as a lab assistant. I _like_ staying home every night. I _like_ being single and free to choose what I want, regardless of feelings for my relationship. It's easier. Cleaner. Less worries." 

    "That's not any fun at all. What about love?" 

    "I'm not like you, Gany! I don't _need_ that sort of thing yet," Jalil explained desperately. "I've never done well with romance. Just let me go at it in my own pace… _please_?" 

    His roommate frowned at him, his whining coming to a halt as he peered anxiously down at Jalil's tired eyes. They just blinked back up at him, pleading and exasperated. 

    "But… if you don't get out there, someone might take your soul mate away," Ganymede said seriously. He shrugged the bundle of leather over his shoulder, using his free hands to gently tilt Jalil's face up. The young scientist frowned at him, but did nothing to stop the gesture-- a small breakthrough for the blonde, who'd been trying to get Jalil used to physical affection for a while. 

    "I don't believe in soul mates, Ganymede." 

    "What about true love?" Jalil hesitated, but shook his head again. "Love at first sight?" 

    "Love is an emotion brought on by a combination of hormones and nerves in the brain," Jalil stated resolutely. He looked up at his friend defiantly. "Therefore, it's only safe to say that destiny has nothing to do with it… if destiny does, in act, even exist." 

    "You're such a pessimist," Ganymede murmured, smiling slightly with his usual charm. He let his hands fall away from Jalil's soft face, letting himself be momentarily distracted from his hunt by the stubborn determination in his friend's eyes. "If you keep on thinking that way, you'll never catch the guy of your dreams." 

    "I don't think he's out there," Jalil replied, but he gave a tired smile. "But thanks anyway, man." 

    "Just the same… you're _going_ to club with me, whether you like it or not!" his roommate suddenly shouted triumphantly, snatching Jalil's wrists and attempting to wrestle him into submission. 

    "Whaa-- _damn_ it, Gany, get your paws off me--" 

    "BEHOLD! The leather king!" 

    "I can dress _myself_, you son of a--" 

    In the end, to protect his modesty and privacy, Jalil was forced into a strict retreat into the nearest bathroom, clutching the outfit and followed by a shouting, cackling idiot of a roommate. He just barely made it before the moron caught up to him. 

    He slammed the door, and reverently hoped it hit Ganymede on the nose. 

    _'I'm going to kill him one day.'_

    So that was how Jalil Sherman found himself putting on his first pair of leather pants. 

    *    *    *

    Of course, it took him a long time to come out of the bathroom. 

    "Jalil! We're going to be late!" Ganymede called impatiently, peering furiously at his wristwatch. He'd been waiting outside the bathroom to brush his hair for the past hour or so, listening to Jalil mutter dark threats under his breath in the locked room. He still hadn't come out. It was nearing time to meet up with April, and the blonde knew for a _fact_ that it didn't take over and hour to put on those pants. 

    "JALIL!" 

    "I'm not coming out!" sputtered the boy in the bathroom, his voice only slightly muffled. "Just get the hell out of here!" 

    "I'm not leaving without you," his roommate answered firmly, knocking sharply on the bathroom door. "Now get out of there! It can't be _that_ bad." 

    "I look…" Jalil trailed off helplessly. 

    "Yes…?" 

    "Christ, I look like they're about to implant into my skin! How do _you_ fit into these? I'm skinnier than you are, and I can feel individual seam lines, damn it!" 

    "It's a talent," Ganymede smirked. He nudged the door with his fist again, prodding at the youth beyond. "Now come out so I can see what else we need to do." 

    The white door slowly creaked open, and Jalil's angry dark eyes flashed at him before he stepped out completely. The black boy frowned, crossing his thin arms over his chest and gazing down critically at himself. 

    "I feel like an idiot," he started to say, but stopped when he saw the wide-eyed look on his roommate's face. "Gany?" 

    The blonde just gaped. 

    "…" 

    "…" 

    "… damn it, Ganymede, stop looking at me like I'm a freak!" 

    Ganymede shook his head wildly, a huge shit-eating grin crossing his gorgeous features. "Well, suck me sideways-- we're _going_ to buy you more leather, Jalil. In large quantity. And make you wear it _every_ single day." 

    Seeing the praise in the words, Jalil almost blushed. _Almost._

    Being a young man of already nicely shaped figure, it made sense that the tight fitting leather pants revealed every single curve of the calf, up to where it rode low on sharp, rakish hips. The leather pants dipped over his ankles, being Ganymede's size and slightly too long for Jalil's shorter stature, and molded him perfectly. Although the blonde's first instinct was to go with a similar leather top, he was proud he'd chosen differently-- a raven black _silk_ shirt hung off of his friend's slender frame, clinging in every right place. The sleeves were loose and slid off of Jalil's mocha skin like water, and the V-shaped neck gave a glimpse to the gentle slope of his coffee-colored collarbone. 

    All in all, it was _perfect_ for Jalil. It made his ordinarily gawky thinness seem more elegant and graceful. The black brought out the light chocolate highlights in his eyes, now gazing worriedly at Ganymede's stunned face. 

    "Is it… not bad, then?" 

    Ganymede swallowed. "Not… bad? Well. Um." 

    "That's it," the new vixen groaned, turning towards the bathroom quickly. "I'm changing right now out of this ridiculous--" 

    "No! No!" The blonde flushed and grinned nervously. "If, um… I was just thinking that if I wasn't in love with David Levin, I'd have to take a go with you myself. Y'know?" 

    Jalil looked at him, mouth open slightly and a red tinge appearing on his cheekbones. 

    "… oh. Thank you." 

    And that, as they say, was that. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

End of Chapter Three: Next up, MORE Jalil in leather! And David and Christopher! *_* The FIRST MEETING! GLEEEEEEE!!! We also find a new character… because, honestly, did you expect only those five to be the ONLY people from Everworld to show up? *winks* 

Yes, I know I spent a huge amount of time on Jalil's description. *drools* Lovely… 

Jalil: I feel so violated. -_- You have me wearing LEATHER. 

Yup. :D Feel the glory that is the leather! 

Jalil: I hate you. 

I know. ^_^ 

God, I love OOCness. ^^;; 

Please review and I'll love you foreeeeeeever! *HUUGS* KYAAA! ^____^ 

Next time-- more LEATHER! MWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	5. In Which Everyone Falls on Sexy People

Caution: Falling 

By Kay 

Author's Notes: Wow... thanks for all the reviews! *glomps everyone* You're so wonderful! ^__^ I appreciated every single one of them-- absolutely fantastic. You guys are the best. It's you that keeps me writing. Well, that, and a huge appreciation for Jalil in leather. And yes, I realize some of the reviews left aren't showing on the site... I'm not sure what's up with that. Don't worry-- I get my reviews through email, too, so I've seen them all. ^__^ I appreciate every single one. I wub you all! 

Enjoy the SLASH-- finally gettin' some C/J action coming up here! ;) And a big G/D, as well... 

One again-- I don't own, don't sue me. Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, but I've been busy working on another Everworld ficcie, and I had to stay at my Da's house this weekend. :) The next one will be coming up SUPER fast. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

    The moment they stepped in the dance club, Jalil remembered why he _hated_ them. 

    "This place is really rippin' tonight!" Ganymede screamed above the ridiculous amount of blaring music and shrieking voices. He clenched Jalil's arm reassuringly, tossing him a wild wink and the careless grin that had reduced thousands of simpering college girls to jello. On the face of a young man, it was a weapon. 

    Jalil decided he hated it, too. 

    "I don't like these kind of places," he said loudly, his own voice almost inaudible in his ears. The thundering trance mix blasting over the speakers pulsed the very floor, moving people out onto a large open space to dance. The flashing multi-colored lights sparkled against their gyrating bodies, flying over the area to illuminate the dusky scene. Jalil, who'd been to fewer social events in his life than his estranged hermit of an uncle, Greggory, was almost awed at the sheer amount of people bouncing around to the music-- or just getting plastered and snogging in random corners. 

    It was possibly the most disturbing thing he'd ever seen. 

    "Ganymede, I want to go _home_," he yelled, standing on his tip toes to tug at his roommate's shirt sleeve and get his attention. 

    "_What_?!" shouted Ganymede, leaning down slightly to hear even as his green eyes were surveying the scene of the _Vicious Wade_. 

    "_I want to go home_!" Jalil nearly screamed-- but his voice was drowned out by a sudden boom coming from a makeshift stage set up in the corner, where the speakers were standing. 

    Ganymede shook his head silently to indicate he hadn't caught the words, before leaning down to yell in Jalil's ear. "I'm going to find April! Stay here!" 

    "_What_?!" 

    It was too late, however-- his flamboyant roommate (gathering quite a few appreciative stares with his emerald silk shirt and rather flattering torn jeans) had already clambered off into the mass of people. Jalil bit his lip savagely to keep from crying out in anger, pressing back against the wall and away from the huge crowd of ravers. He didn't like this. Didn't like the loud music, the strange and heady feeling of no control, and most of all, the insane amount of people crammed into the tiny establishment. It was like a nightmare come true. 

    And he really didn't like the sly glances some of the people were starting to give him. 

    _'Why did I agree to this?'_ Jalil wondered with a mental moan of despair. He scowled furiously at an audacious idiot frat boy who dared to flash a flirtatious wink at him. He crossed his arms almost defensively over his skinny chest, trying not to look as uncomfortable and upset as he felt. The boy got the picture, but threw him another wink as his partner shoved him out to the dance floor. _'Bastard. I hope he's in my Chemistry class, so I can blow him to hell the next lab day.'_

    He should never have come here. 

    There were some things in Jalil Sherman's life that he could live without. One was this experience-- he'd never go to another dance club again if they were all loud, feverishly hot, and obsessively packed inside a tiny space. What a horrible concept. Some demented outcast in life probably thought up the idea in his basement, cackling madly to himself and plotting Jalil's future humiliation and discomfort. _'Jesus... you can barely breathe in here...'_

    He searched the floor for Ganymede's tall, blonde form, but to no avail. The lights dashed across the numerous people, dying hair shades of pink and green, bruised violet and burgundy-- it was impossible to unblend the sea of color washing out individual identity. Not to mention, all the movement and bouncing made height nearly impossible to determine. The entire room was a technicolor blur of unfamiliar faces, and Jalil found himself shaking slightly in alarm. 

    It had been too _long_ since he was in a crowd of this proportion. The last instance he could recall being in a group this size was his cousin's wedding, and that had ended in an all-out brawl between the ring bearer and the groom. (The younger teen had been sucking idly on the piece of jewelry, but accidentally swallowed it in a coughing fit during the ceremony. It took three days to retrieve it. Jalil didn't ask how.) By then, his cousin had gotten so sick of her fiancée that she called the wedding off again. 

    It seemed like all his experiences with lots of people turned out bad. Jalil sighed warily and surveyed the mass of sweating, pitched people. At least this had no brawls. Yet. 

    It was only a matter of time, of course. 

    Keeping in mind that caution should always be exercised in groups of freakish people, Jalil started off to look for his missing roommate. 

    And a drink. A really strong drink. He heard from Ganymede that if you were drunk, you could actually survive these things. 

    _'... stupid roommates.'_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    By the time Ganymede spotted April's curly auburn hair over by the left bar counter, he'd already been accosted by approximately eighteen and a half women. (The half still counted, even though she thought he was someone else.) Of course, the blonde turned every suitor and lovely lady away. He _was_ in love, after all. 

    "You're late," April quipped amusedly as he approached, tapping her watch. He made a face at her before breaking into a large grin. Though the friendly redhead was closer to Jalil, he'd been introduced to her after his tiny infatuation with David had began, and the two warm and magnetic personalities immediately labeled them tight friends. Ganymede was thrilled that she loved _Rent_ as much as he did (while Jalil was apt to hide the CD whenever he took to listening to it full volume in the apartment), and was especially touched that the redhead was willing to aid him on his quest to ensnare the delectable David 'Gorgeous-As-Sin' Levin. 

    "Jalil took forever getting dressed," he informed her. He smirked slightly, remembering the new look his roommate was wearing. "But it was worth the wait, believe me." 

    "My god, _Jalil's_ here?!" 

    "Yeah. Lots of duct tape, bribery, and electric shock prods later..." Ganymede made a quick motion to the bartender, who waved at him. The blonde made it a habit to know every bartender in the area-- one could never be too careful. By now, everyone knew his favorite drink, which certainly saved time on the ordering block. "I left him near the entrance while I came to find you. I'm a little worried, but I think he can handle himself in here. It's a little more toned down tonight than usual." 

    April looked dubious, but let it pass. "Well, if you say so. Why did you bring him?" 

    "I told him I needed help reeling in David," Ganymede admitted. "But I really just wanted to get him out of the apartment and into a situation where he'd have to deal with people again. I'm hoping he meets someone." 

    "You're despicable, Gany," his friend laughed, tipping her glass back and finishing off whatever she was having. "And as a reward for your wicked ways, I'll inform you that, yes, David _did_ come. His friend Christopher dragged him here on a leash practically. I think he thought the same thing you're thinking about Jalil-- you know, see a few people, destroy the bubble of isolation... all that stuff." 

    Ganymede _purred_. "Oh, but he won't be alone for _long_... oh no, my love..." 

    "You're very odd, honey." 

    "Yes. I am. Jalil reminds me every moment of the day." 

    April made as if to laugh, but her eyes were scanning the room, and suddenly the green orbs lit up happily. "Oh-- oh, there he is! David's over there!" 

    "Where?!" 

    "Look by the tables set in the corner. No, further to the left. He's slumped in the shadows near the back." 

    Ganymede squinted, slitting his emerald eyes carefully at the darkened part of the room. He could make out the figure, veiled slightly by the ashen pallor of the room where the lights weren't flashing. "How do you know it's him?" 

    April threw him a teasing smirk, and grabbed his arm to steer him towards the area. "Body language. I've spent ages with him in class. By now, I can spot the classic 'David Levin Angsting Slump' _anywhere_." 

    "Oooh, teach me the ways..." 

    "Observe the way his shoulders lean forward in upset frustration. The tension in his arms, the awkwardness in which he holds himself." The redhead giggled slightly. "All point to a _major_ angst fest and self-pity party. Poor baby didn't want to come." 

    "Awww," murmured Ganymede sympathetically, although his green eyes were fixed upon the unmoving figure with an almost frightening hunger. "Poor baby. I'll make everything better." 

    "And if not, you can at least see him up close, right?" April chuckled, lowering her voice as they drew nearer. By now David's figure was plainly visible, including the miserable and annoyed expression that drew his dark eyebrows together in a furrow. Despite the scowl on his face, he looked remarkably at ease in the pounding heat of the club... most likely resulting from the many times April knew Christopher had dragged him there. 

    _'Yes,_' the redhead thought to herself impishly. _'Maybe Ganymede is_ exactly _what David needs in his life.'_

    Only time, and a stellar first impression to hopefully ease the crushing blow of Ganymede's powerful personality, would tell. April weaved her way through the remains of the crowd, giving a casual nod to David. The dark haired boy looked up at her with a faint smile. 

    "Hey, April. How's it going?" 

    "Good," she responded cheerfully, shoving Ganymede into a chair at the table. She sat down beside him after doing so, ignoring his dirty look. "I thought it was you; no one else could be in such a deep funk at a party." 

    David rolled his eyes at her. "You sound just like Christopher... you sure he's not imprinting on you? I'd hate to see you start running around drinking beer and making an ass out of yourself." 

    "Never gonna happen," April told him resolutely. She flashed an innocent smile and reached out to pat Ganymede's hand. Up until now, the tall blonde had been uncomfortably ignored-- the motion made him start uneasily before looking at David with a bashful smile. Whatever confidence he'd bolstered before immediately flowed out of him at the view of the gorgeous brunette's face. 

    "Hi," he said lamely, and waved. 

    April choked back a snicker. 

    David just gave the blonde a strange look. "Hi," he answered back slowly. "Is this your new boyfriend, April?" 

    "I wish," she admitted wistfully. "But no. We're just friends." 

    "She's my beautiful redhead goddess that agreed to drive me home when I'm too smashed to walk," Ganymede added sagely. David's lips quirked into a grin. The blonde almost squeaked, and his heart stopped and thudded to a shuddering death in his chest. 

    _'Oh yeah. Must make him do that again. Oh my,'_ the blonde groaned inwardly, staring intently at the fantastic smile on his crush's face. April was watching his reaction with amusement, understanding the sappy, love-sick expression on Ganymede's handsome face, and mentally filing it so she could tease him later. 

    David, oblivious to the effect he was having on a certain blonde, slumped comfortably in the chair. Although it was close to stifling hot in the room, a heavy black denim coat lay casually over his shoulders, hiding most of him from view. The habit had been born out of too many close calls with random gropers, much to his embarrassment. As long as he wore a coat and stayed near the back, most of the scary ones would leave him alone. 

    Ganymede didn't let this stop his imagination. He feverently hoped there was mesh under that jacket. 

    _'Okay, phase 1 of my plan has been followed through-- I've met the guy of my dreams. Now onto phase 2, in which I find a way to make him fall in love with me. Or I can just skip to phase 3... find someway to get that goddamn jacket off, and leer at my prey with undisguised appreciation.'_

    Of course it was in his best interests to stay with the second phase. Not a good idea to start acting up just for a glimpse of what the gorgeous brunette had to offer. No, Ganymede should play his cards right and end up with the grand prize before making any attempts to do things like... like... 

    _'That's it, damn it. I'm spilling my drink on him so he'll take off the jacket. If I can't woo him tonight, I'll at least get to take a peek at some of the goods.'_

    Feeling rather pleased with his decision, Ganymede reached for his glass-- and found nothing. Slapping his head mentally with a groan, he recalled the fact that he did not have a drink to _spill_ on David Levin yet. A major setback in the plan. 

    Of course, April had a glass of something. One of those cutesy woman drinks that he secretly indulged in, being the huge strawberry fanatic he was. (And they got umbrellas. Was that fair? No, it wasn't. Sexism was an ugly thing.) 

    David wasn't paying attention. April was trying to talk to him, bring him out of his shell to create a decent conversation. Ganymede snuck another look at them both, and then glanced down at the redhead woman's drink. Half full. More than enough to get across the table on 'accident.' 

    _'Alright! Phase 3, start! Your mission, Gany, should you choose to accept it, is to randomly find a way to spill that womanly, strawberry drink all over the victim, David Levin's, incredibly sexy yet unrevealing coat. At which point you can bluntly stare at his chest, and hope he offers you the chance to ravish him silly in some alleyway. Then we'll worry about the long term relationships and the future wedding. Yeah. Good plan.'_

    Ganymede had just finished congratulating himself, and began to subtly move towards April. If he got close enough and pretended to stand, pitching forward and losing momentum... and _accidentally_ knocking her drink across the table... then... 

    "So Christopher's here?" April was saying, seeming to ignore the blonde beside her. David gave a short nod. 

    "I suspect he's somewhere over there. Drunk as hell. And getting into trouble, no doubt." 

    "Hah!" 

    Ganymede made as if to stand in the exact same moment that April lifted her glass-- and drained the rest of her daiquiri. 

    _'Shit! Mission abort, mission abort--'_

    It was too late for the blonde, however-- his feet twisted under him, already beginning to lean forward-- and with a muffled curse under his breath, he tried to twist differently as he fell, trying not to hit the surprised April and the table-- but it was too late, and he turned wrong, and his wide and shocked green eyes fell upon large brown ones, and a gaping mouth that said: 

    "Watch it--!" 

    _CRASH!_

    It hurt. That was the first thing he was aware of. Ganymede could feel his muscles ache, already feeling as though the skin were sprouting bruises from the table that he knocked into. He had the vague feeling he had thrown the entire thing off its stand, which wasn't good. So much for the brilliant plan. Mission failure, indeed. 

    The second thing he noticed was the fact that there was something _very_, very warm underneath him. Something sputtering and squirming uncomfortably. Something demanding, very loudly in his ringing ears, "Are you okay?! Can you get _off_ of me?!" 

    That was when it hit Ganymede Ryle that there was a very embarrassed, very red-faced, very adorably confused David Levin that he was laying on top of. 

    Oh yeah. There was a god somewhere. 

    And if April laughed when he said, "I can't seem to get up!" it was okay. 

    _'Cause I'm in he-e-eaven!'_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Jalil was starting to get hopelessly lost. 

    After looking over all the club that he could make his way through, he still hadn't found his wayward roommate. Ganymede seemed to have disappeared altogether, and when he called his name, he only got a few lewd winks and offers to dance. Actually, even without asking around for Ganymede, he'd been getting too many propositions to make himself comfortable. There was something awkward and yet vaguely flattering about having strangers come up and tell him he was attractive, though. 

    Of course, after the first eight, it started getting old. 

    "No, I don't want to dance. I'm not interested in a date. And I certainly don't want to go see your favorite hotel room at the local Holiday Inn," he insisted firmly. His latest suitor-- a large, dark eyed man with a funny golden shade of eye color-- frowned at him. 

    "Eh... _mien lammfliesh_... you are certain? I do not like seeing one as beautiful as yourself in this environment," the man said innocently, deceptively concerned. Jalil eyed him suspiciously, trying to dredge up his knowledge of the German language. 

    "... did you just call me your _lamb_?" 

    The man didn't answer, but the red flush in his face answered for him. 

    "Oh, hell no, you go away. I don't deal with people like you. I'm just looking for my friend," the dark-eyed scientist insisted again, backing away warily. Once he made a safe distance, he turned into the crowd and shoved his way through the throngs of people. This was getting ridiculous, of course... but he still couldn't find Ganymede... 

    Jalil bit his lip harshly and fought the urge to cringe. This atmosphere was starting to warp his mind. He'd actually been watching some of the crazy people dance with fascination-- the way they moved so close together, as though hypnotized... 

    It was odd. Disturbing, even. But after agreeing to take the first two drinks some random, strange people had bought for him, it was actually starting to appeal to him. 

    _'Which is why I have to find Ganymede,'_ Jalil reminded himself sternly. He forced his slightly dizzy body to slow down and stick to the walls, away from the mass of dancing people. _'Before you actually agree to go dance with some freakish guy like Mr. Lamb. It's definitely time for you to go home, man. Gany can go chase David Levin by himself, thank you very much.'_

    He still found himself slightly swaying to the music. Catching himself and uttering a muttered curse as though it were poison, Jalil forced himself to start looking again. 

    "Ganymede? _Gany_--" 

    "Lookin' for someone, sugar?" purred a low voice in his ear. Jalil nearly eeped. 

    _'Not another one!_' Turning in trepidation, Jalil forced a polite smile at the woman who had spoken to him. "Sorry, miss, but I'm... I'm here with someone, and... just looking for him, so I'll just be going now, you know." 

    The older aged woman pouted at him. "Aww. Looking for a 'him'? All the good ones are taken or gay." With that, she released him, and Jalil was left blushing madly after her. Not only with embarrassment, but with a good deal of irritation and irrational anger as well. He didn't like this scene. He didn't like these _people_. They were vulgar and cheap and... 

    He definitely had to find Ganymede, or he'd end up killing someone. 

    Turning cautiously towards the back, where tables lined all the way down the wall, Jalil made his way out to the edge of the crowd. He couldn't see Ganymede, although he heard a large crash that made his head turn sharply-- looked like the 'brawl' parts were beginning to develop. Sighing slightly and wavering from the earlier inbibment of alcohol, the young black teenager stood indecisively. He had absolutely no idea what to do next. 

    He didn't have to worry about it. Not five seconds after he decided to go home, a nearby dancer slammed right into him-- and sent him careening backwards, arms flailing. 

    "Aaa--!" Jalil squeezed his eyes shut tightly, entire body tense and ready to hit the cold and unforgiving floor. The world spun in his eyes, an effect from the fall and the alcohol, seeming much worse because of the whirling lights in his eyes. 

    When he hit, he let out a soft gasp and _'oomph!'_. 

    "Well, well, _well_... what do we have here?" 

    Jalil became aware of exactly three things in the next sixty seconds. 

    One was the fact that he wasn't on the floor yet. In fact, he was rather comfortable, although slightly perturbed by the realization that whatever he landed on was more cushioning and warm than any furniture the club could offer. 

    The second item was the fact that he was currently sitting in someone's lap. 

    Someone who was very warm, very strong, and from the tone of voice, _very_ amused. He'd landed over the arm rest of the chair, knees hanging off the edges, and his back sprawled across the other body. An arm was hooked carefully around his waist, preventing him from falling any lower. It was a strange sensation, as Jalil was quite sure he'd never been in anyone's lap before. 

    The third thing. This person was definitely a male. 

    Despite the first impulse to snarl and deck whoever was daring to snatch onto him-- although, technically, it saved him from a nasty fall onto a hard floor-- Jalil found himself taking a very deep and relaxing breath to calm himself. That done, he tilted his head up and opened his eyes to gaze into the face of his "somewhat savior" and then stopped. 

    Jalil took another deep breath, and it shook in the air. 

    He was looking into the bluest pair of eyes he'd ever seen. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WHEE! Finished that chapter. Already started the next one. HTML is a bitch. ^^;; 

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I didn't like this chapter at all. But I hope I do well on the next one, as it's Chris and Jalil's first meeting! And it's not happy, but it's steamy as hell. ^_^ Who wants a lime scene? Hmmm? That should give you something to look forward to. Although this means I'm upping the rating to an "R"... you'll have to change to include that rating to see the fic up... 

Honestly, I'm surprised with the warmth this story was accepted with-- new fans who really love it and everything. I really appreciate the support for this fic. It makes me all warm and fuzzy and want to write more. ^_^ 

There's already at least twenty more chapters planned, so it won't be ending any time soon. Plenty of more hilarity and slash. I like this. It's fun to write about normal love trials in the life of a person living in the alternative love style. *winks* I hope my college years are this fun. 

Thanks again! I hope this doesn't disappoint anyone... ^^;; 


	6. Christopher panics, David panics, we all...

_Caution: Falling_

By Kay

Disclaimer: I don't own EW. Yet. With all the fic I do, I think I SHOULD, though…

Author's Notes: It's finally updated! Whoo! Thank heavens. Don't worry, the fic is back on track. I've been really working on updating my older works-in-progress, too, if anyone even still gets into this fandom. Enjoy! OOC and fluffy abounds!

* * *

Christopher was _not_ having a good night.

It had all started out very innocently. A free weekend night, devoid of any classes or joint study groups that just looked at him funny when he tried to joke about algebra and algorithms. ("You show me _your_ algorithm, I'll show you mine, sweetcheeks.") He had taken the opportunity to convince a highly reluctant David Levin that yes, college students had to go outside of the dorms at least once a week. Because it wasn't healthy not to party and go clubbing. Not at all.

In the end, he improvised and bribed: Come along, and he wouldn't make them take _Women Gender Studies Through the Ages_ next semester.

David was decked out in mesh, a trench coat, and ready to go within five minutes.

So that had been the easy part. The hard part came when they arrived at the club-- one of the newer places Christopher was enjoying, _The Vicarious Wade_, possibly the hottest and sexiest scene he'd found so far. Honestly, the amount of gyrating bodies and flashy lights? Awe-inspiring. It was like eating too many Pixie-Stixs and twirling around multiple times. He'd almost written a sonnet on the twisting beauties that were by the door, but decided against it when one turned around a flashed a very male chest at him. He may be a master of the lovin', but Christopher Hitchcock was very, very straight.

No, he really was.

So it had started well. Went better when he had a mug of good ol' beer in his hands. It must have begun going downhill after David left to sulk in a dark corner, however, because ever since then, the blonde had been accosted by the worst stuff. First, some woman had approached him... and drunkenly spilled some sickeningly fruity-scented drink all over his stylish, tight shirt. It was, like, pear or something. That had been the beginning of it, really.

It had to be the pear-scent thing. That was it. That was why every single frickin' girl he tried to flirt with was either A.) there with her very big, very intimidating boyfriend that liked to hover by her shoulder and glare at poor Christopher; or B.) liked to blow him off with a mocking laugh and, "You're kidding me, right?" He'd even run across option C.) about half an hour ago, in which the girl he tried to flirt with was there with her very small, very sharp-toothed girlfriend that liked to hover by her shoulder and look at Christopher like he was grilled chicken with blonde hair. All of these situations had ended in a hasty, well-planned retreat that involved, more or less, the act of running away and pretending he'd seen his aunt's cousin's brothers' second nephew (twice removed for no reason Christopher could remember) lurking around back.

It was getting depressing.

So there he was, sitting all alone, sulking, sipping his beer and getting more and more drunk... and maybe trying to jump a few pretty girls, if it weren't the for the fact they kept laughing in his face... when it happened.

No, that's not dramatic enough. When _IT_ happened.

"Aaah--!"

Something fell into his lap. Fell. Into his lap.

Christopher shrieked like a girl and dunked his beer all over the guy sitting next to him.

"_Jesus!_ What the fuck is the matter with--" the guy was quickly cut off by his girlfriend, who dragged him to the nearest bathroom and was yelling something about expensive fabrics. Christopher blinked dazedly after them, his hands automatically holding the heavy object that was now laying across his legs and partly on his chest.

He blinked again and looked down. Grinned.

_'Oh yeah! Getting lucky toni-iiiight!'_

"Well, well, _well_... what do we have here?"

The delectable creature that had landed in his lap blinked sluggishly, looking around as if she couldn't quite tell where she was. Christopher grinned even wider, his downcast spirits lifting with the gift the higher powers had seen fit to give him-- he'd known it was bad luck all along! The girl was a little bony, yeah... he could feel the sharp edge of her hipbone pressing into his ribcage, and it didn't take effort at all to wrap his arm around her waist to keep her from toppling. But too little was better than too much in many cases, as Christopher had always (obnoxiously) said, before being beaten (severely) by either April or David.

Besides, anything that looked that good in leather and silk? Surely it was a crime to not accept the sacrifice given to him. Wow. Even her face was rather lovely. A little lost and confused, but the features were elegant if a little abrupt, and the clouded brown eyes were even darker than the coffee-sheen of her skin. Black hair fell over her face and trickled down to a short cut near her neck.

And the leather. Had he mentioned the leather?

He could deal with the flat chest later. That was what Wonder-bras were for. Well, that and slingshots, but he wasn't twelve anymore.

The heaven-sent gift looked at him.

Christopher beamed back.

It was true love. It had to be. Between the loud, pulsing music and the sparkling lights, they were fixated on each others' gazes, swept up in the overwhelming chemistry that sizzled between them like so many fireworks on a hot July night. Filled to the brim with passion and pear-scented stains, they were connected. Their minds were connected. They could feel each other's desires, their mad lust soothed by the magic in each others' eyes, and Christopher could feel it in his chest-- true love at last... or at least a week long affair instead of a night stand.

Then the magic broke.

"I'm going to clobber your skull with something blunt and heavy if you don't let go of me in exactly _three seconds_," the dream growled.

Growled. Deeply. Very deeply.

Christopher frowned. Tilted his head. Thought something over in his head. Looked down at the creature's suspiciously flat chest. Looked at the sharp features of the face. Tilted his head to the other side. Thought something else over in his head. Looked back down at the suspiciously flat chest.

"_FUCK!"_ He shoved him-- _him! him!_-- off of his lap, sending the man sprawling on the floor and cursing at him, and frantically attempted to vault himself backwards out of the chair. It did not work. The entire thing tipped over, sending him flying into another table, which also fell over, along with several drinks still half-full, which landed either nearby or directly on his chest, followed by the outraged shrieks of said drinks' owners.

Meanwhile, as the blonde was being trampled by several strangers in creepily painful footwear such as heels and spikes, the "delectable creature" struggled to his feet, swearing profusely the entire time and with a definite intention to dish out some violence even if he couldn't exactly (well, at all) see straight.

If David had seen the massive chaos, he would have been proud and felt fairly justified after the incident in the garage. As it was, he had his own hands full. Literally.

* * *

David was inwardly cursing every single bad thing that had ever happened to him in his life.

First, he'd been born. That must have sucked. Right? Yes. Being torn from the warmth of his mother (although it must be said, he might have had to worry about swimming in alcohol for the rest of his life in her innards had he stayed) must have been a terrifying, traumatic experience, and just not a very good way to start his life. He probably screamed the hospital down. They probably dropped him several times on his head just for spite.

Secondly, he'd been born male. This was not technically something David wanted to change, naturally-- he was quite happy being male, thankyouverymuchit'snoneofyourfuckingbusiness, and the idea of actually being a girl made him feel a tad bit queasy inside. But really, most of his life would have been a lot easier if his father hadn't been so happy to have a son. Because while he loved his father, it had gotten old really fast. His father hadn't been able to tell little boys from men. His father liked to give him speeches on doing manly things in manly ways, even going so far as to instruct him how to brush his teeth in a manly way, or how to tie his shoes in the manly way ("None of those sissy bunny ears!"). His father had also liked to shove him in ugly orange lifejackets and take him on boats. Well, okay, so that was good.

He could have done without the speeches, though.

Thirdly, and now his list was getting really heated up, he hated Senna Wales. Because Senna in some way or another was the cause for everything. She was the Reason. No matter how far away or how much she ignored him, anything bad that happened to him was ultimately her fault. That was all. For every bad thing that had happened to him in college so far, she'd been the instigator. If it hadn't been for Christopher, he might not have survived her at all.

So that was how David Levin knew, somehow, without a doubt, that Ganymede Ryle must be working for Senna Wales in some fashion.

"I can't believe I had to drive you home," he growled lowly, shoving the keys into the car ignition and twisting them sharply. The beat-up Toyota rumbled to life-- his black and green dice hanging from the rear-view mirror (courtesy of Christopher's generous contribution to his car-buying plans) danced a bit with movement. "Where do you live?"

"The apartments," the blonde boy mumbled, shooting him another strange glance that made something David either tingle or shudder in abject terror.

"Fine." He pulled out of the club's parking lot, shooting it a dark glare in the rear-view mirror. At least he was out of that place, even if he had to deal with the human octopus to do it. David wondered bleakly if those were still hand prints he could feel all over his chest, or if he was just imagining it. God, he was still embarrassed. How was it possible that it could take over fifteen minutes to get a perfectly sober, disgustingly tall pretty-boy off of his struggling body?

There was no longer any doubt. Ganymede Ryle, as April had finally introduced him, was trying to kill him or get into his pants. And that did _not_ make David Levin happy at all.

This was all Senna's doing. Somehow.

"I really am sorry about falling on you," the blonde offered. He didn't sound sorry at all. David hunched down lower behind the steering wheel, glancing at the tall boy suspiciously.

"Whatever. Forget about it. _Really_."

"You make a fantastic cushion."

Oh God, resist the urge to jerk the wheel and veer into that concrete building there, David. He balanced the car out smoothly, plastering a fake and not-at-all-really polite smile on his face. "Is that so?"

Ganymede was still looking at him with that hungry, wicked expression that wasn't helping David's nerves one bit. He swallowed a bit, clenching clammy hands on the wheel. "You look stressed," the blonde observed.

"What? Oh. I guess."

"You know what I do when I'm stressed?"

"No," David said, quite sure he didn't want to know. He was right.

"I make out with blonde, curly guys with green eyes," Ganymede said seriously. "I really think you should give it a try. It's very therapeutic."

He was going to kill April. No, scratch that. He was going to kill Ganymede and hide his body somewhere in a forested mountain, probably buried in the hillside and covered with leaves to hide the freshly dug earth. And then he was going to kill April. And then he was going to kill Christopher, just for the hell of it.

After that, he was going to take a shower. All that killing would probably wreck hell on his cleanliness.

"No," was what he finally said, very firm.

"Why?" Was the boy actually pouting? David sneaked a peek to confirm it. Yes, the boy was actually pouting.

"I'm not gay." That should do it; very blunt, but not completely insensitive. For David. However, if anything, Ganymede only brightened and threw off the sulking shadow he'd been threatening to loom with.

"Oh, that sort of condition can be cured."

David's knuckles turned white. "_No._ It can't."

"Want to give that theory a try?"

_"No."_

There was a pause. "... not even if I give you something you really, really want?"

"What on earth," David asked slowly, in what he assumed was either a very patient or very psychotic voice, "could you possibly give me that I could really, really want?"

Silence filled the car.

"Sex?"

He was going to kill him. "If you don't _shut up_ right now--"

"_Kinky_ sex," Ganymede pointed out emphatically.

"I don't want sex. I don't want kinky sex. I don't want anything to do with you!" Resisting the urge to rip out his hair (which Ganymede was actually admiring at the moment for its dark mahogany color), David let out a near-cry of relief as the apartments came into view outside of the windshield. "We're here! We're _here_-- get out of the car."

"But what about if--"

"No!"

This argument actually lasted approximately eighteen minutes and thirty-three seconds longer before Ganymede was finally shoved bodily out of the car, and onto his ass in the mud puddle right outside of his apartment.

Hair mussed, jacket disposed and revealing the now-skewed mesh shirt underneath, his eyes slightly wild and what seemed to be a bite on his left shoulder, David Levin shouted, "And if you even think about it again, I'll cure you of a condition-- your _life_!"

With that, he slammed the door. And drove away rather erratically, nearly hitting three mailboxes and a black cat that thought the entire matter very unpleasant.

Sitting in the mud, a silly grin on his face, Ganymede announced, "I'm _so_ fucking in love right now."

_  
End of Part 6_


	7. Ass Kicking Ensues

_Caution: Falling_

By Kay

Author's Notes: Well, part seven is finally out! Whew. A little shorter than I originally planned, but I'm just going to lengthen the next part to make up for it. It feels good to be back on track, but looking back, I wish I could edit the earliest chapters for their grammar/spelling mistakes... oh well. (laughs) Enjoy, please!

* * *

There's nothing that sobers anyone quite as fast as getting dumped on a hard cement floor. Or that's what Jalil decided, muttering such a severe string of curses under his breath that it would have put Ganymede's attempts at phone sex to shame (one should note the "attempts" and try to imagine exactly how Jalil knows about what Ganymede says during phone sex, and why exactly Jalil has blocked the apartment number on his cell phone-- never let it be said that Jalil Sherman never learned from experience). All cursing aside, however, the plain fact of the matter was that Jalil was starting to get _seriously_ pissed. 

First, he was forced into leather pants. (A grave injustice, in Jalil's professional opinion.) Second, he was forced to enter a club that, as far as he could tell, had already violated at least eighteen health codes. Third-- and this was by far the most important-- he had been forced into some strange asshole's _lap_, and then quite promptly shoved back _off_ again onto the floor.

Jalil was tired. Jalil wanted to go home. And mostly, right now, Jalil wanted to kick someone's ass really bad.

Unfortunately, he would have to wait for a while.

As far as he could tell, the person who had decided to shove him onto the floor without a single word of warning (and Jalil was going to ignore the fact he'd threatened to bean him if said person didn't drop him) was under a mob of angry, drenched and drinkless females and their uptight boyfriends. The group of chairs that had been directly behind them, as far as Jalil could tell, had been completely tipped over, as well as a set of tables. The floor was sticky with the slush of daiquiris and fruity cocktails that had no business being on the floor of a dancing club (chalk that up to _nineteen_ health code violations, Jalil noted), and the blonde flash of hair he'd come to target as The Pervert With the Wandering Hands was under the entire mess of it.

Well. If the guy hadn't had his ass kicked too much by the pissy women and men, then Jalil would kick his ass.

(It wasn't like he could see Ganymede anywhere, anyway. Part of Jalil was also getting pissed off at his roommate for leaving him in a potentially hostile situation, but then he decided he'd expected that, anyway. Besides, Ganymede couldn't have done anything-- the last time he tried to learn martial arts, he'd sung _Kung-Fu Fighting_ around the house and shrieked every time he had to kick a beanbag target.)

Considering all of this in his head, Jalil sighed and did what any other still-slightly-tipsy and already-very-pissed person would do: he up-righted a chair and sat down to wait. Either way, three different scenarios would happen.

One, Ganymede would come find him first and they would go home. Jalil wouldn't speak to Ganymede for two days straight, up until the point where the puppy-dog green eyes were so creepy centered on his back that he couldn't take it anymore, and Jalil forgave him. And Ganymede would do the ironing for the week, maybe even two, to make up for it.

Two, the crowd in front of him would disperse, leaving The Pervert with the Wandering Hands alone and vulnerable. Operation Kick Ass and Possibly Remove Testicles would ensue, leaving Jalil satisfied and more open to being left behind with a sticky floor and shrieking, drunken women.

Three, the crowd in front of him would disperse, leaving The Pervert with the Wandering Hands alone and vulnerable. Except the crowd would have totally pummeled him, leaving nothing behind but a twitching body. In this case, Jalil decided he would go the forgiving route for once-- he was tired, after all-- and just kick his gut a few times. And maybe his face. A shame, considering it actually looked to be a fairly nice face until the hands started roaming and Jalil realized exactly where the hell he was, but really...

Thus satisfied, Jalil sat back to wait.

* * *

Christopher was having the worst night of his life. 

Well, okay, not the worst night. He could vaguely remember something about an expensive vase of his parents' that had been smashed by a cricket bat during high school-- to this day, he had no idea where the cricket bat had come from. And he could recall the time Claire McBourgin had turned him down to go to prom with that sleazy, nerdy twerp from their homeroom-- and then next year, she'd turned him down for David, which was worse. (And it was even worse when David turned _her_ down in turn, and Christopher had nearly put his favorite Radiohead t-shirt through a meat slicer.)

But still, it was pretty bad. He definitely couldn't smell the pear stuff, anymore. No, he smelled like... well, like the back shelf of a bar, to be honest.

"I hate this," he announced to the neon lights on the walls. Then, just to make sure they understood, he repeated, "This fucking sucks."

"Tell me about it," someone said to his left.

Christopher thought very quickly and very quietly about the merits of turning around to answer that voice. It was bad enough that he'd been mobbed by psycho girls demanding refunds for their spilled drinks (backed up, again, by bastard boyfriends that were slightly larger and more intimidating than himself). And it was even worse that he was covered in said drinks that needed refunded, thus leaving him with a godawful smelling shirt that kept clinging to his chest uncomfortably-- alcohol was sticky, and stick in this case was not good.

He didn't think he could take another person out to beat him up or, even worse, take his money. But it wasn't like he had a choice. He had the strange feeling that his left arm was plastered to the floor by some strange red goop.

"This isn't yours, is it?" he asked flatly, raising said left arm.

The person paused for a bit, and Christopher got the sense they were a little amused. "No. I didn't have a drink. Wish I did now, though."

"You and me both," Christopher muttered.

"I don't suppose," the voice continued almost hopefully, "that you're not so completely beaten and pathetic that you can take a few more kicks while you're down?"

"Sorry, I think I've had all I can take tonight."

"Oh. Can I dump a drink on you?"

"Won't make much difference."

This was, Christopher decided, the oddest conversation he'd ever had. As if hearing those thoughts, the voice echoed, "This has got to be the oddest conversation I've ever had. I guess you get off for now, though-- but I'm still pissed off at you."

"Why?" And finally, Christopher turned his head to see-- "Fuck, it's _you_!" Forgetting the slush pile that was gluing him to the floor, the blonde struggled to his feet, grimacing at the sickening way his shirt and jeans clung to him. He didn't even want to think about the stuff in his hair-- it was disgusting. But he had bigger fish to try.

"You," he snarled, pointing at the thing that got him into all this trouble in the first place. "_You_ are the cause of this shit."

The boy scowled indignantly at him, hazy black eyes narrowing. Now that Christopher could see him straightened out-- christ, he was nearly his height, how couldn't he have known?-- it was easy to see that this was no female. The lines were too angular, the features too stubborn, and the way he hung his arms was even distinctively male; they were bold, as confident as the rest of his movements.

"I don't think," the bastard said, "there was any fault on my part. If I remember correctly, and I _do_, you were the one who made inappropriate advances on a less than sober stranger... and then rudely shoved him onto one of the grossest floors this side of a slaughterhouse."

Christopher had to agree with the last statement. But that didn't change anything. "You were the one who fell into _my_ lap, dumbass. And it was the last thing I wanted, too. Inappropriate advances, my _ass_."

A flush spread across the boy's features. "What? Your _hands_ were entirely too familiar. What gives you the right--"

"My hands are only familiar with _women_."

"I feel sorry for the women," the boy said sarcastically.

Christopher felt the very hair on the back of his neck rise up in anger. That was it. No one, and _no one_ (except maybe David, damn it, okay) was allowed to threaten his... whatever. Masculinity. Sexual prowess. Mad skills. Whatever. Something.

It was an insult to him, that was all that mattered.

"You wanna take this out back?" he demanded, not caring that he sounded like an idiot. From the incredulous look on the stranger's face, he was definitely thinking that. "Seriously, I'll take you. It looks like it won't be much of a fight, though." He allowed himself a smirk, knowingly moving his eyes up and down the boy's scrawny body, allowing a self-congratulatory internal gloat when the stranger tensed and scowled deeply in return. "I bet you were the kid that got his lunch money stolen every day, huh?"

The stranger's eyes narrowed.

Christopher kept the self-confident grin on his face a while longer, and then let it drop as he turned to go. "Well, so long-- thanks for the bad memories, asshole. Try not to land in anymore--"

"Fine."

"What?" He wasn't going to look back, he _wasn't_, and fuck this sinking feeling in his stomach.

"I'll do it. Let's go out back." When Christopher turned to him, gaping, the boy tilted his head in cold consideration. Then, with a slow, reptilian smile that bared too many teeth and made something in Christopher shrink further inward, he added, "That is... unless you don't think you can handle the kid that got his lunch money stolen. You've probably stolen from quite a few yourself to know the look, hm?"

That did it. Jesus, could the night get any worse? Christopher let out a dangling string of curses internally that would have put David's mouth to shame when changing a car tire in shop class (he'd never known you could do so many things with a jack and three silver bolts the size of walnuts). It wasn't like he could say no, though, now that he'd been the one to put the offer out there. It didn't matter. He'd put in a hard hit, get the punk down, and go home from there-- David would survive on his own.

(At this moment, it'd be ironic to note that David was currently driving home in his car, bright red and missing more than his fair share of mesh, cursing up a storm that would put his tirades in shop class to shame, as well. It should also be noticed that he'd never be able to use the passenger seat belt again after the damage he'd done trying to strangle a certain curly blonde head with it.)

"Fine," Christopher said through gritted teeth. He refused to feel guilty about it (the boy looked like a straw could slice him in half). "Let's get this shit over with."

"After you," the boy said mockingly, gesturing.

Oh yeah. He was going to kick this guy's _ass_.

With this thought in mind, Christopher headed towards the back, all the while envisioning a nice warm couch and a buzzing television. All he had to do was lightly clip the bastard enough to get him to back off-- nothing too bad, not even enough to leave bruises-- and this entire night down the drain could just go to hell. He'd burn the shirt. Fuck it all. It wasn't like he didn't have an entire closet full of babe-magnet fashionware.

Or something.

And so, when they finally faced each other in the alley and Christopher rolled up his sleeve and prepared to punch right on that pompous, smirking and entirely too pretty to be male mouth, he was in for a shock.

Two sharp pains in his nose. Wet bursting. A muffled curse dropped from his mouth, "_Fuck_," and then there was only the wet grit of the alley under his pants. _More_ gross gloop to wash off when he got home. "Fuck," he repeated, covering his nose and squeezing his eyes shut tightly, "Foo bashard."

The boy scoffed and put his fist down. "You big baby. Who's the one who got his lunch money stolen? I had a prepaid account, always. Who even uses that kind of outdated system anymore?"

"_Bashard,_" Christopher keened.

This was the worst night of his life.

"Oh, let me look at it." And with an exasperated sigh, the stranger crouched down right in the middle of the damp cement-- though not without a grimace-- and brought out a white tissue to dab at the blood leaking from between his fingers. "Christ, you kind of people are such morons. I don't suppose you have a ride home, do you? Because you're not getting _anywhere_ with hamburger pulp for a nose."

Shit. _David_.

Christopher groaned and closed his eyes, leaning against the wall. God, the night was just getting worse and worse.

_End_


	8. Tissues, Snark, and We're Stranded?

_Caution: Falling_

By Kay

Disclaimer: I think we've already established about three chapters ago that I don't own Everworld or make money off of it.

Author's Notes: Chapter Eight is up! Huzzah! You can thank Amanda for that, she keeps me going. XD Oh, but now we're actually getting somewhere. Ignore the OOC and the stranger lines and you'll live through another weird chapter, okay? Thanks so much if you're still reading at all!

* * *

It took eleven minutes and eight more wads of Kleenex from Jalil's back pocket (it always paid to be prepared, or as Ganymede liked to say, "The antisocial, cynical version of an obsessive-compulsive boy scout… except without the cute short-shorts!") to stifle the blood flow out of the blonde stranger's nose. 

Ten of those eleven minutes were spent listening to the idiot babble on about his life being cursed, how he had an uncle for a Mafia Don and it only took a word to have anyone's knee caps broken (or at least beaten severely with a blunt object which may or may not be a baseball bat, depending on how expensive the bat was and how stupid your insult was), and how Jalil was lucky this night he was feeling especially generous and wouldn't give his name away to the Italian Assassination Guild or "fum shit like dat" for his crimes against one of "the fuckin' familia."

Every time the idiot tried to speak, more blood started spurting out between his fingers. Jalil had given up on telling him to shut the hell up four minutes ago. Some things could only be learned through experience.

"My dose hurts," the blonde complained, after having finally silenced himself for a few moments. Jalil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. And then resisted having to resist the urge and did it, anyway.

"You're not Italian," he muttered, scowling at he stood in the flickering lights of one of the most disgusting alleyways he'd had the disgust to stand in. "And if you didn't spend half the time making stupid, asinine threats like those-- which I will, of course, simply ignore-- it wouldn't hurt so much."

He paused, and then added, "Jackass."

The blonde glared up at him with slightly fuzzy eyes-- either Jalil had hit him a little too hard or he'd been drinking a little too long. Or possibly both. Either way, the only reason Jalil hadn't already hightailed it out of here and went to find his ride home was because… well, it was stupid, but…

"You look pathetic," Jalil groaned, more to himself than to the stranger. It was true. Still sitting on his ass in the middle of the greasy alleyway, bunches of red-spotted tissues pressed to his swollen nose, clothing drenched with the sharp and nauseating scent of alcohol from his earlier episode with the scary cliental of _The Vicarious Wade_, and that _stupidly_ miserable expression on his face (reminiscent, Jalil thought with deeper frustration, of an oddly cute dog that'd been smacked several times and then dropped down a well) failed to inspire anymore anger in him. All he really felt was… well, sorry for the jerk.

_'Looks like I'm not the only one having the worst night of his life…'_

The blonde scowled. "I hobe you 'ave a random car run you ober. I hate you."

_'I'm going to hit him again.'_

"If you don't want my help," Jalil snapped, crossing his arms in a huff, "then I can just leave you here. You don't know where your ride is, right? Good luck trying to go anywhere without someone to make sure you don't injure yourself even more." God, he could use a drink right about now. As soon as this was over, he was grabbing Ganymede and-- whether his roommate liked it or not-- hightailing it out of here and back to where people were fairly civilized.

The blonde had a very unpleasant look on his face. "You can't jus' leabe me," he protested, struggling to get to his feet.

Jalil sighed, exasperated, and reached out to grab his arm. He yanked him to his feet, ignoring the wince on the stranger's face. "No, I could. But I won't. Keep your mouth shut or I assure you, it will change."

The blonde thought about that… and shut his mouth.

Jalil shoved another few tissues into the blonde's hands before steering him firmly back towards the entrance into _The Vicarious Wade_. The blast of hot, packed-in air hit them as soon as they stepped back into the dark club and its hyperactivity on the floor. Jalil blinked away the disorientation and quickly led them to the main bar, ignoring the few flirtatious comments directed his way (which were mostly warded off, though he didn't realize it, but the soggy heap of sniffles behind him). The blonde was weirdly quiet, not protesting the hand attached strongly around his wrist and pulling him further into the crowd.

If Jalil had looked back, he would have seen those blue eyes studying him intently with a curiosity and surprise uncharacteristic of him.

He did notice, however, when the body following him suddenly pulled upright not three steps from the bar. Jerking back a bit at the resistance, Jalil turned with a frown to see what was wrong. In the flashing neon lights crisscrossing the floor, the blonde stranger's face was a blurring mess of blue and gold and violet.

"My name's Christopher Hitchcock." It was hard to hear the words above the music.

Jalil blinked.

The blonde shrugged, pressing the Kleenex tighter to his nose. "Jus' thought I'd say it, tha's all."

It was on Jalil's tongue to shoot back that he didn't care what his name was, he was already calling him 'The Jackass' in his head. But he didn't. Instead, he turned away and pulled on the boy's-- Christopher's-- wrist again, feeling a funny swell rise up in his stomach that was entirely too different for him to feel comfortable with it. "Jalil," he said flatly. "Now, I don't suppose you can see your ride?"

"Hey, are you--"

"I came here with a redheaded girl named April. I don't know her last name." Jalil stood up on his tiptoes, careening his neck back so he could try to see about the crowd, but it was no use. "I'll probably ask the bartender. Who did you come with?"

Christopher didn't seem to hear him clearly. He blew a bit into the tissues and cleared his throat, sounding a little better. "April? Snarky, redheaded April who can change a tire really well? She's in a few of my classes. Hey, are you Jalil Sherman, the really smart-ass kid that lives with--"

_'Oh God, he goes to my college. This just gets better and better.'_ Jalil cleared his throat loudly, pushing through a throng of people to get to the main bar. "_Anyway_, last time I checked, she was over here with a few friends. I wouldn't usually approach her, but she probably knows where Ganymede is--"

"You know, for a scrawny geek you have a mean right hook--"

"--and I was ready to go home about, oh, three hours ago and… wait, _what_?"

"Um, please don't hit me again."

"You're _really_ pushing it, Hitchcock."

"Um. Um. Did you know that your roommate's in love with mine?"

* * *

**Meanwhile, in the Ryle-Sherman apartment…**

* * *

The phone was ringing again.

Ganymede cursed under his breath again, scraping the steak knife carefully over the surface of the toaster and trying to ignore it. Why was it every time he was doing something vitally important, he was interrupted? It was probably some sort of curse. In return for the utter sex appeal and suave personality, he was doomed to forever having someone interrupt his quality time with people of equally utter sex appeal and suave personality.

Even if they were stickers.

"Oh, shove it!" Ganymede yelled at the telephone, managing to rip off another pasted face from the toaster. Tom Cruise in a kimono this time. It was a pity, really, but some changes were needed around here. _'Sorry, Tom-baby, but you time is over. Ganymede Ryle is officially in love! Mmm, Ewan McGregor. Sorry, you have to go, too. Well, maybe not your posters. But at least on the toaster.'_

He wondered if Jalil would find a toaster pasted over with pictures of David Levin disturbing at all. Then he decided he didn't care.

"This is for our own good," Ganymede vowed, placing Tom Cruise's face on the pile of shredded stickers that was steadily growing on the counter. The toaster was almost completely clean again (he didn't even remember how shiny it was), but it was hard work. What had he been thinking when he used actual glue? Maybe he hadn't been thinking. That was what Jalil generally told him.

Of course, he'd use glue on David's face. Because Ganymede didn't plan on giving _him_ up, ever.

"Our love is meant to be," he said dreamily, pausing for a moment and closing his eyes carefully. He smiled. Ganymede had been infatuated before. He'd been smitten, attracted, fond, needy, wistful, and just about everything else-- but even within a few days of knowing about David Levin, he could tell this was entirely different.

There was a certain… _something_ about the boy. Something that knocked him straight between the eyes, a bolt to the brain, something that made his blood sizzle and the air dry up all the words in his throat. It made the world seem brighter, more real, like Ganymede could just reach out and touch everything and feel it vibrating beneath his fingers. He liked everything about the boy so far. He liked the dark of his eyes, the serious tilt to his head, the tired smiles that deserved to be so much wider. He liked David's low timbered voice, the sort of dent in his left ear, the way he pursed his lips after taking a drink of alcohol.

He liked that David Levin was just a _boy_, but he was still entirely something else to Ganymede.

_'This has to be what love is,'_ Ganymede thought, putting the toaster down on the counter with a soft smile. _'Besides, no one else could look that good in mesh.'_

The phone started ringing again.

"_Okay_, okay!" Ganymede huffed impatiently and threw the steak knife into the sink, crossing to the yellow plastic phone on the wall. "Jeez, doesn't this thing ever shut up?"

He picked up. "This is Ganymede. I'm not interested in you if you're not David, so please hang up."

"I'm going to _kill_ you," a low voice growled on the other end. Ganymede's heart jumped into his throat.

"David?"

"_No_, you idiot! Jalil! Jalil Sherman! Your roommate, remember? The one you so _thoughtfully_ left alone at a nightclub in the middle of nowhere?" The voice dipped so far into sarcasm that Ganymede could almost taste it leaking out of the receiver. "I'm going to kill you. I seriously am. I'm tired and dirty, people are staring at us, I've contracted a disease called Hitchcock, and April's been gone for over an _hour_. Where the hell were you? How am I going to get _home_!"

Ganymede sat down in a chair, frowning in disappointment. "Oh. Hey, Jalil. Did you have fun?"

There was a brief moment of stunned silence from the other end. "Fun? _Fun_?"

"I'm dismantling the toaster again. I think you'll like it better, though."

"Ganymede, I don't have a ride back! I don't even have money for a taxi, what am I supposed to do?"

That caught Ganymede's attention a little more. "What?" he demanded, sitting up straighter in the chair. "Where's April?"

"_Have you been listening to me at all!_"

"Take a deep breath, Jalil. Okay?"

Silence. Then, "Okay. I still hate you, though."

"I can live with that." Ganymede paused, worry falling into the green of his eyes. "I don't know what April was thinking, I told her you were still there-- do you have a credit card on you? Anything you can use for a taxi? I'd usually call someone else, but it's so late…"

"I've got nothing." Jalil paused, and then-- to Ganymede's surprise-- snapped, "Get your hands off the phone, you idiot. They're sticky."

"Jalil?"

Shuffling on the other end. "I'm here," Jalil said, clearer and somewhat sheepish. "Sorry. Apparently I've picked up a tumor named Christopher Hitchcock. Sound familiar?"

"Um, no."

"Good. I wish I could say the same. Apparently he's your love-bunny's roommate, though and-- no, shut up, you can't talk to him. What? No. _No_, go bother the bartender."

"Jalil?"

Another pause, and then an exasperated huff sounded through the receiver. "Sorry, Gany. Look, I know you don't have a car, but… the bartender says this idiot's ride's left, too. With _you_, I might add, and I don't want to hear anything about it because I'm still mad at you for this-- just help me figure out a way back, okay? Do you think April would still be up?"

Ganymede checked the clock. "Um. No, but I can probably beg her to get up. She'll be mad, but she'll live. Besides, it's really her fault for forgetting you…"

"Can you call her, then? I don't have her number and… Jesus Christ, _no_, Hitchcock, you can't come, too. Call your idiot roommate. Unless," and now Jalil's voice came back louder, suspicious, "he's with _my_ roommate. In which case, I will be even _more_ pissed off at you, Ganymede. What the hell were you thinking, making me come to this madhouse? I swear, I'm calling the department of health first thing in the morning--"

Ganymede snapped out of his daydream of what would have happened had David come home with him, after all. "What? No! Jalil, I like that place. You just have a stick up your ass. And not a fun one."

"_Ganymede_."

"Right, right, I'll call April." Ganymede sighed. "Hang by the phone, okay? Don't go anywhere. And…"

"Yes?"

"When you say you _picked up_ Hitchcock, do you mean…?"

"Finish that, Ganymede Ryle, and I swear I'll shove that goddamn toaster down your throat."

* * *

**An hour later…**

* * *

April hadn't been happy at all, but she came. Brimming with apologies and grumbling about Christopher getting stuff all over her car, no less.

"I really am sorry," she said again to Jalil, who sat next to her in the front. Behind them, Christopher was trying to dry himself off with a towel and utterly ruining it. His nose was still a funny red color from dried blood and swelling. "I completely forgot that you were still behind, but with all that happened earlier…"

"It's okay. Thanks for coming back," Jalil muttered, leaning his forehead against the cool pane of the window. It felt entirely too damn good. "Sorry you have to take that idiot back, too."

"Well, I'm somewhat used to that," April said with a sigh.

"You both suck," Christopher said.

April ignored him. "Were you the one that did that?" she asked, smirking a little and nodding her head towards the back. Jalil frowned at her, thought back a bit, and then laughed.

"Oh. Yes. Well, it was his fault."

"Was _not_!"

"He demeaned me," Jalil continued with a shrug, turning a little red when he remembered exactly how it had come about. "When he challenged me, I took it. Dumbass should learn not to judge books by their covers. That, or he should just learn to permanently keep his mouth shut."

"I've decided you suck even more," Christopher mumbled, sulking. He kicked the back of Jalil's seat, only to have it rocket back on his foot. "Ouch! _Shit!_"

Jalil calmly removed his hand from the seat adjusting lever.

"You two really don't get along," April noted in amusement.

Jalil and Christopher looked at each other. Then, they turned to her and in unison, much to their displeasure and April's further entertainment, "I hope I never have to see him again."

"You're a wiseass," Christopher said after a moment, scowling and turning away. He crossed his arms at the chest, firmly ignoring the front seats.

Jalil mimicked him, an expression of heightened irritation blossoming across his features. "And you're an idiot."

April threw her head back and laughed.

_To Be Continued…_


End file.
